=x 


"  The  hoy  pressed  her  to  him" 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE 
SHELTERING  PINES 

Jl  3\[eu)  Romance  of  the 
Storm  Country 

By 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

Author  of 

"Tess    of    the   Storm   Country,"    "The    Secret   of   the 

Storm    Country,"    "Judy    of    Rogues'    Harbor," 

"Rose    O'    Paradise,"   etc. 


New  York 

THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 
Publishers 


COPTBJGHT,    1919,   BY 

THE  a  K-  F1A  COMPANY 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    "Tony" —  For  Short 1 

II  The  Master  of  the  "Dirty  Mary" 17 

III  Uriah  Devon  Names  the  Price 30 

IV  The  Picture  of  a  Baby 38 

V  The  Pendlehavens 50 

VI  Dr.  John  Has  a  Visitor 65 

VII  In  the   Night 75 

VIII   "Tonv"  Swears  an  Oath 84 

IX  "AH  Alone!" 92 

X  "Tony"  Finds  a  New  Home 100 

XI  A  Woman's  Hatred 108 

XII  The   Tryst 116 

XIII  The  Prodigal  Comes  Home 1  22 

XIV  The  Fight 129 

XV  The  Face  in  the  Window 138 

XVI  "Don't  Make  Me  Tell" 1  50 

XVII  The  Stoning..  162 


2133698 


XVIII  The  Gathering  of  the  Clan 1  77 

XIX  "I  Love  You  More'n  the  Whole  World!"    186 

XX  A  Little  Drop  of  Something 1  98 

XXI   Uriah  "Goes  Away" 213 

XXII  Good  for  Evil 227 

XXIII  A  Will  Is  Changed. 243 

XXIV  The  Last  Card 255 

XXV  A  Wedding  To  Be 263 

XXVI   In  the  Balance 268 

XXVII   ''Poor  Little  Mother" 277 

XXVIII   Cross-Questions 298 

XXIX  Payment  In  Full.  303 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE 
SHELTERING  PINES 

CHAPTER  I 

"TONY" — FOR  SHORT 

ANOTHER  winter  had  lifted  its  icy  fingers  from 
the  Storm  Country  and  Lake  Cayuga,  and  an 
early  spring  had  brought  from  the  south  the  red- 
breasted  robins  and  thousands  of  other  birds  tc* 
build  their  homes  in  the  Forest  City,  as  Ithaca, 
New  York,  is  called.  No  wonder  the  name  had 
been  given  to  the  quiet  town  of  people,  for  to  the 
south,  the  east,  the  west,  and  even  to  the  north 
where  the  lake  cut  sharply  around  a  corner,  broad 
forests  stretched  their  lengths  and  heights  of  leaf 
and  bough  on  miniature  mountains. 

One  evening  on  the  western  side  of  the  Le- 
high  Valley  tracks,  a  girl  stood  before  a  small 


2       The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

*  c> 

building  over  which,  like  ropes  of  green,  draped 
the  branches  of  a  weeping  willow  tree.  This 
building  was  difft  nt  from  any  of  the  other  habi- 
tations near  it  in  that  it  was  well  painted,  arid 
the  door  stood  open  all  day. 

'Twas  a  strange  little  girl  that  gazed  up  with 
searching  eagerness  at  the  two  lighted  signs  that 
had  arrested  her  attention.  In  her  arms  she  held 
a  diminutive  guinea  pig,  and  the  \ray  she  hugged 
it  close  demonstrated  her  love  for  it. 

'THE  SALVATION  ARMY,"  she  spelled  out 
and  thoughtfully  considered  it.  Then  her  eyes 
turned  to  the  spread  of  letters  that  covered  almost 
the  whole  upper  front  of  the  building. 

"Everybody  is  welcome  here,"  she  read  slowly. 
That  meant  that  any  one  could  enter  if  he  wanted 
to,  she  decided,  and  as  Tonnibel  Devon  did  want 
to  go  in,  she  softly  tiptoed  up  the  steps  and 
peeped  into  the  room.  As  there  was  nobody  in 
sight,  she  sidled  in  and  looked  about.  Long  board 
seats  reached  from  side  to  side,  and  up  at  the 
other  end  set  on  a  rostrum  was  a  little  table,  and 
on  each  side  of  it  were  two  piles  of  books. 

The  girl  cast  an  interested  glance  around,  drink- 


"Tony"— for  Short  3 

ing  in  with  eager  gray  eyes  the  strange  beauty 
of  the  place. 

"Welcome"  was  curved  in  letters  of  red  above 
the  table  and  books,  and  the  silent  young  stranger 
sighed.  She  couldn't  understand  how  a  girl  could 
be  really  welcome  anywhere.  Of  course  her 
mother  liked  her  and  missed  her  when  she  was 
away,  but  Tony  knew  of  no  other  place  where 
she  was  really  wanted  but  the  canal  boat,  called 
"Mary"  and  "Dirty  Mary"  for  short,  which  had 
been  her  home  ever  since  she  could  remember. 
Pressing  the  piglet's  snout  against  her  neck,  after 
the  manner  of  mothers,  she  sat  down  on  a  bench 
and  contemplated  the  walls. 

"Glory  be  to  God  in  the  highest,"  swung  in 
letters  of  gold  across  the  right  wall,  and  to  the 
left,  "Stand  still  and  see  the  Salvation  of  the 
Lord,"  kept  her  attention  a  little  longer.  She 
didn't  know  what  they  meant,  but  the  varied 
colors  shining  brilliant  in  the  bright  light  calmed 
her  turbulent  spirit  and  made  her  happy.  She 
hugged  the  pig  closer,  bent  her  head  and  kissed 
the  top  of  its  ear. 

"I  guess  we're  in  a  church,  Gussie,"  she  said 


4       The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

aloud,  "and  you  mustn't  grunt  or  squeal  like  you 
do  on  the  'Dirty  Mary.'  It's  awful  nice  and 
quiet,  ain't  it,  honey?" 

"Were  you  speaking  to  me1?"  said  a  voice  from 
near  the  door. 

Tonnibel  Devon  struggled  to  her  feet,  turned 
around  and  saw  a  young  man  looking  at  her.  A 
flame  of  red  rushed  over  the  tanned  skin,  but 
because  he  was  smiling  and  kindly,  she  smiled 
back,  a  dimple  coming  to  life  at  each  corner  of 
her  mouth. 

"Nope,"  she  flung  out  in  confusion.  "I  was 
talkin'  to  Gussie-Piglet  here.  Mebbe  her  and  me 
hadn't  ought  to  be  here.  You  can  kick  us  out 
if  you  want  to." 

Philip  MacCauley,  the  Captain  of  the  Salva- 
tion Army  in  Ithaca,  bowed,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"Every  one  is  welcome  here,"  he  quoted,  com- 
ing forward.  "Whcre'd  you  come  from?  I've 
never  seen  you  before." 

"I'm  staying'  up  Hoghole  way,"  replied  Tony. 
"I  ain't  been  around  Ithaca  long.  This  is  an 
awful  nice  room,  ain't  it,  huh?" 

"Yes,  very.    We  like   it,"   replied  the  young 


"Tony"— for  Short  5 

man.  "Sit  down;  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Tonnibel  did  sit  down  but  not  very  comfort- 
ably. She  was  embarrassed  in  the  presence  of 
this  handsome  young  stranger,  abashed  in  the 
glamour  of  his  uniform,  and  all  the  beauty  of 
him. 

With  boyish  admiration  he  was  contemplating 
the  sparkle  of  her  gray  eyes,  shaded  by  long  lashes 
as  ebony  black  as  her  hair  which  hung  in  ring- 
lets to  her  waist.  He  decided  that  she  was  very 
pretty,  and  that  he  liked  to  have  her  in  the  Sal- 
vation Army  quarters. 

"Can't  you  stay  for  meeting  this  evening1?"  he 
asked  presently.  "We  have  singing  here." 

Tony's  eyes  deepened  almost  to  lustrous  black. 

"Oh,  I'd  love  that!"  Then  she  shook  her  head. 
"Nope,"  she  went  on,  "I  got  to  go  home  to 
mummy.  She's  all  alone !  Mebbe  when  my  daddy 
gets  back,  I'll  come  some  time  and  sit  clean 
through  the  night." 

For  an  instant  the  smile  stayed  about  the  boy's 
lips,  then  gravity  settled  once  more  over  his 
earnest  young  face.  This  child  was  of  the  wilder- 


0       The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

ness  born;  he  could  tell  that  by  her  conversation. 
And  she  was  poor  too;  that  showed  in  her  clothes 
and  bare  feet.  It  wasn't  usual  for  a  girl  of  her  age 
to  run  about  without  shoes. 

"What's  done  in  this  place?"  she  questioned 
after  a  while. 

"Oh,  we  sing  and  read  and  pray,"  replied  the 
boy.  "We  do  everything  we  can  to  help  people. 
There's  such  a  lot  of  misery  in  the  world." 

"That's  as  true's  you're  born,"  came  back 
promptly  from  the  parted  red  lips.  "I  know  that 
because  my  mother  is  sick  every  day,  and  she 
cries  too.  That's  misery,  ain't  it?" 

Captain  MacCauley  was  used  to  tales  of  woe, 
but  he  knew  a  panacea  for  them.  "Yes,  it  is  so," 
he  said.  "Perhaps  you  could  get  her  to  come  here 
some  evening!  Do  you  think  you  could?" 

The  curly  head  made  a  slight  shake  of  negation. 

"Daddy  wouldn't  let  her,"  was  the  reply,  and 
she  lifted  unfathomable  saddened  gray  eyes  to  his. 
"You  see  when  a  man  owns  a  woman,  and  she 
don't  do  the  things  he  tells  he  to,  he  beats  her, 
huh?" 

There  was  mute  pleading  in  her  expression  as 


"Tony"— for  Short  T 

she  drew  back  on  the  bench  a  little  farther  away 
from  him.  Ah!  He  might  have  known  that  she 
had  been  swept  along  by  the  relentless  tide  of 
brutality.  He  sighed  a  little.  He  had  seen 
enough  of  ignorant  men  with  their  supreme  ego- 
tism, to  know  she  told  the  truth.  He  glanced 
about  the  hall  and  felt  thankful  that  from  its 
warmth  and  good  cheer  he  had  the  chance  to  bring 
comfort  to  just  such  as  this  girl  and  her  kind. 

"Your  father  is — is — cruel  to  your  mother, 
then?"  he  faltered. 

She  remained  in  deep  thought  for  the  space  of 
a  few  seconds.  If  she  answered  his  question  then 
she  would  have  to  tell  more,  how  Uriah  Devon 
got  distressingly  drunk,  how  violent  he  often  was 
with  her  and  her  mother,  and  how  he  went  away 
days  at  a  time  and  left  them  to  shift  for  them- 
selves. 

"A  swat  or  two,  mebbe  more,  ain't  a  killin* 
thing  to  women  folks,"  was  the  response  she 
made  confusedly  at  length. 

So  unusual  had  been  her  answer  that  Philip 
MacCauley  gazed  at  her  in  amazement.  Of 
course  he  had  expected  an  outburst  of  confidence, 


8       The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

and  he  was  ready  with  the  platitudes  necessary  in 
such  cases. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of — of  God?"  he  asked 
finally,  his  own  confusion  apparent  in  the  stumble 
of  his  tongue. 

Tonnibel  smiled,  smoothed  Gussie's  back,  and 
then  laughed. 

"I  hear  God  damn  more'n  a  hundred  times  a 
day,"  she  replied.  "Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

"Not  quite,"  answered  Philip,  startled.  "No! 
Not  that." 

"Then  what?"  demanded  Tony.  "What  kind 
of  a  God  do  you  mean  ?" 

"One  that  is  good,"  explained  Philip.  "There 
isn't  any  God  but  the  one  who  helps " 

"My  mummy?"  breathed  the  girl,  misty  tears 
shadowing  her  eyes. 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  he,  then?"  The  words  shot  forth 
with  such  insistence  that  something  within  Philip 
MacCauley  rose  to  its  demand. 

"Some  one's  got  to  be  good  to  my  mother,"  the 
girl  ran  on  before  he  could  speak.  "She's  sick — 


"Tony"— for  Short  9 

and  lonely.  Oh,  I've  got  to  do  something  for  her. 
Where's  your  helpin'  God,  mister?" 

"Right  here  in  this  place,"  said  Philip,  a  strange 
emotion  sweeping  over  him.  "In  fact  there  isn't 
any  place  where  God  is  not." 

"He  wouldn't  come  in  a  dirty  canal  boat, 
would  He1?"  demanded  Tony,  breathlessly. 

Astonished  at  such  crudeness,  Captain  Mac- 
Cauley  shifted  himself  about  so  he  faced  her 
squarely.  Was  it  pretended  ignorance  or  inno- 
cence in  the  searching  gray  eyes'?  Then  he  decided 
that  truth  was  stamped  on  every  line  of  the  up- 
turned face. 

"Of  course,  everywhere,"  he  exclaimed  bro- 
kenly. "Why,  dear  child " 

Tony  Devon  interrupted  him  swiftly. 

"Tell  me  how  to  manage  it,"  she  pleaded. 
"How  can  I  wheedle  your  God  to  the  'Dirty 
Mary'?" 

"To  the  what?"  was  the  question  the  boy  asked 
in  shocked  swiftness. 

"The  'Dirty  Mary/"  repeated  Tony.  "My 
mummy  and  me  live  on  a  canal  boat.  Once  she 
were  just  called  'Mary.'  But  she's  so  damned 


10     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pineg 

nasty,  Ede  calls  her  the  'Dirty  Mary.'  She's  a 
nice  boat  just  the  same  as  long  as  my  mummy's 
there.  But  I  can't  see  how  a  clean  God  could  come 
on  'er.  ...  I  guess  you're  foolin'  me,  mister." 

Philip  swallowed  hard.  Then  slowly  and 
gently  he  talked  to  her,  trying  to  make  her  under- 
stand as  best  he  could  what  he  meant  by  God, 
Spirit. 

"And  you  can  help  your  mother,  little — little— 
what's  your  name*?" 

"Tony,  just  Tonnibel,"  she  mumbled.  Then 
her  voice  rose  and  she  uttered  sharply,  "Now  tell 
me  how  to  help  my  mother?" 

Philip  went  to  the  altar  and  sorted  out  a  small 
card. 

"This,"  he  said,  coming  back  to  her,  "has  happy 
loving  thoughts  written  on  it.  If  you  think  these 
things  all  the  time — oh,  how  they  will  help  both 
you  and  your  mother." 

Wonderingly  she  took  it  in  her  fingers.  The 
first  thing  that  met  her  eyes  was  a  beautiful  up- 
lifted face  of  a  man  and  in  his  arms  was  a  little 
lamb.  Underneath  the  picture  was  printed,  "Feed 
my  sheep,"  and  directly  under  that  were  the  words, 


"Tony"— for  Short  11 

"Stand  still  and  see  the  Salvation  of  the  Lord." 
Once  more  her  eyes  sought  the  face  above,  a  face 
wherein  lay  all  the  pity  and  love  in  the  world. 

"Goddy,  it's  lovely,  ain't  it'?"  she  asked.  Then 
she  sighed.  "Feedin'  sheep,"  she  took  up  pres- 
ently, "that  means  givin'  something  to  eat  to 
people  and  to  everything  that's  hungry,  don't  it1?" 

"Yes."  The  boy  nodded,  and  he  continued, 
"That's  what  the  Salvation  Army  did  in  the  war. 
We  just  fed  God's  lambs,  hungry  boys  over  there 
fighting.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  was  awful,  all  of  it." 

Tony's  eyes  suddenly  lifted  from  the  picture. 

"War?"  she  queried,  startled.  "I  heard  of  all 
that.  You  wasn't  there  where  folks  were  killin' 
each  other,  was  you?" 

Disbelief  deepened  the  gray  of  her  eyes  as  she 
ejaculated  her  negative  question. 

"Yes,"  Philip  told  her,  deeply  touched  in 
memory,  "and  over  there  I  learned  just  what  try- 
ing to  make  people  happy  meant.  That's  why  I 
came  home  to  work  here — here  in  this  part  of 
Ithaca." 

A  long,  slow  breath  came  from  between  Tony's 
parted  teeth. 


12     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pincs\ 

"And  you  think  honest  that  God' 11  take  a  wh 
at  us  canal  boat  folks?"  she  whispered.  "\V 
lambs,  kinda,  ain't  we,  Uriah,  and  mummy  : 
me?' 

To  quell  his  sudden  desire  to  put  his  ail: 
about  the  little  gray-eyed  creature,  Philip  be;_r. 
to  talk.  He  told  her  of  the  underlying  princijr 
of  Love,  of  Life  and  Truth. 

"Love,"  he  continued  huskily,  now  so  close  !> 
her  that  he  felt  her  warm,  swift-coming  breati 
against  his  face,  "Love  is  everywhere,  and  i 
you'll  always  remember  that— 

The  eager  young  listener  broke  his  statement  | 
two  by  a  long  sobbing  sigh. 

"Love's  on  the  'Dirty  Mary,'  too,"  she  state; 
in  one  breath.  "I  didn't  know  you  meant  tha: 
Why,  my  mummy  loves  my  daddy  so  she'd  stan 
up  and  let  him  take  'er  skin  off  by  inches,  yet  sh 
don't  stop  lovin'  him.  She  keeps  on  savin'  to  in 
he  loves  her  too.  Mebbe  he  does,  I  dunno!" 

Philip  started  all  over  again,  explaining  tha 
Love,  Divine  Love,  never  hurts,  never  is  brutal  bul 
is  ever  kind  and  gracious.  And  this  time  Ton) 
Devon  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lesson  he  was  try- 


"Tony"— for  Short  13 

ing  to  teach,  and  when  she  went  out  of  the  Sal- 
vation Army  hall,  she  held  within  the  depths  of 
her  a  wonderfully  new  and  utterly  strange  emo- 
tion. It  did  seem  as  if  she  couldn't  make  her  feet 
go  fast  enough  as  she  sped  along  the  shadowy 
Boulevard.  Always  before  when  she  stole  away 
at  twilight,  she  had  listened  to  the  singing  pines, 
and  gave  them  her  secrets  in  full  or  heard  the 
distant  murmur  of  the  brooks  away  there  in  the 

4 

dark  hills,  but  to-night  she  had  a  new  mission. 
High  back  in  the  woodland  she  heard  an  owl 
screech  to  his  mate,  and  from  still  farther  back 
came  a  mournful  reply.  Tony  loved  owls,  and 
their  nightly  talks  with  each  other  were  as  sweet 
to  her  as  the  twitters  of  the  morning  birds. 

She  was  panting  for  breath  when  she  ran  up  the 
gangplank  of  the  canal  boat,  anchored  near  the 
Koghole. 

A  woman  was  busy  brewing  tea  when  the  girl 
slipped  down  the  steps  of  the  cabin. 

"You  been  gone  a  long  time,  Tony,"  mumbled 
Mrs.  Devon.  "Did  you  see  anything  of  your 
daddy?' 

"Nope,  and  I  squinted  in  every  beer  hole  in 


14     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Ithaca,"  Tony  replied,  "but — but — but  I  found 
out  something  for  you." 

Then  the  woman  turned  and  looked  at  her 
and  stood  waiting  for  an  explanation. 

"If  you  put  up  a  bet  on  your  nose,  you  couldn't 
guess  what  it  was,"  went  on  the  girl,  with  eager 
wistfulness,  "you'd  lose  your  beak,  mummy,  as 
sure  as  shootin'.  .  .  .  Now  guess." 

"I  can't,"  answered  Mrs.  Devon,  wearily.  "Is 
it  anything  about  your  daddy ?" 

"Mebbe  it  is!"  replied  Tonnibel.  "Listen! 
There's  somebody  on  this  boat  besides  me,  and 
you,  and — and  Gussie." 

"Who?"  came  sharply  from  the  woman. 

She  shivered,  fearing  that  the  law  lay  in  wait 
for  her  absent  husband. 

"Who,  brat?"  she  repeated  imploringly. 

Tonnibel  bent  over  and  looked  straight  into 
the  sad,  wan  face. 

"God,  just  a  plain  lovin'  God!"  she  replied, 
her  countenance  expressing  unusual  exaltation. 
"Sit  a  minute  while  the  tea's  makin'  good,  and 
I'll  tell  you." 

Side  by  side  they  sat  together  on  the  bunk  while 


"Tony"— for  Short  15 

with  lowered  reverent  voice  the  girl  told  the  story 
of  the  Shepherd  who  had  said  long  ago  with  in- 
finite pity,  "Feed  my  sheep." 

"And  mummy,"  the  girl  continued,  leaning  her 
head  against  her  mother's  arm,  "Darling  mummy, 
that  beautiful  man  said,  'Love'd  make  crooked 
things  straight,'  and — and  it's  so." 

A  look  of  unbelief  came  over  Edith  Devon's 
face. 

"Fiddle,"  she  said  in  a  disgusted  voice.  "Tony, 
you  ain't  a  brain  in  your  bean." 

Tonnibel  smiled  happily  in  her  new  and  sweet 
belief.  Philip  MacCauley  had  planted  a  seed  in 
the  fertile  soil  of  a  girl's  soul,  and  instantly  it  had 
begun  its  sturdy  growth. 

"I  don't  need  any  brains  as  long  as  I  got  this, 
Edie,"  she  replied,  lifting  the  card  she  held. 
"Come  on,  let's  say  these  things  over.  Here's  one 
that'll  keep — well,  it'll  help  keep  daddy  from 
beatin'  you." 

Mrs.  Devon  grasped  the  girl's  arm  in  sudden 
frenzy. 

"You  told  some  one  Uriah  beats  me?"  she  de- 
manded sharply. 


16     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Mebbe  I  did,  and  mebbe  I  didn't,"  answers. 
Tony,  slyly,  "but  these  here  words  about  standhv 
still  and  watching  Salvation  slam  good  all  about 
will  keep  nappy's  fists  up  his  sleeves.  Say  it,: 
Edie,"  she  ended. 

"I  won't,"  said  Edith,  getting  up  swiftly.  "If 
there's  anything  in  it,  Tony,  you  can  show  me  by 
gettin'  your  daddy  back  home.  Mebbe  he's  it: 

jail." 

"Even  if  he  was,"  retorted  the  girl,  with  a  wi.r 
shake  of  her  head,  "lovin'  hard  could  make  the! 
coop-doors  fly  wide  open,  and  daddy 'd  flop  out : 
like  a  dogfish  flops  into  the  lake." 

"Then  drink  your  tea,  baby,"  answered  the 
woman,  thickly,  "and  get  busy  at  it!  It's  some- 
thing like  prayin',  ain't  it?" 

"Yep,  I  guess  so,"  answered  Tonnibel,  as  she 
drew  up  to  the  table.  "I'm  goin'  to  find  out  more 
some  of  these  days,  and  then  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it.  Huh,  mummy?" 

"Yes,"  muttered  Edith,  "but  I'm  getting  a 
guess  out  of  the  days  I  spent  on  this  boat  that 
God,  or  whoever  you're  talkin'  about,  ain't  bother- 
in'  His  head  over  the  'Dirty  Mary,'  nor  us  uther." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    MASTER  OF   THE    "DIRTY    MARY" 

A  WEEK  before  this  story  opens,  Uriah  Devon 
had  steamed  the  length  of  the  lake,  anchoring  his 
boat  as  near  Ithaca  as  he  dared.  Even  to  his  wife, 
Edith,  he  had  not  confided  why  he  had  brought 
her  to  a  town  where  yawning  prison  doors  gaped 
for  her  every  passing  hour. 

"I  won't  go,  Riah,"  Mrs.  Devon  had  cried 
when  her  husband  had  made  the  statement  that  he 
intended  to  visit  Ithaca.  "You  couldn't  get  me 
near  that  place  with  a  rope  around  my  neck." 

But  the  very  fact  that  she  now  sat  on  a  small 
bench  against  the  boat  rail,  gazing  moodily  at  the 
water,  proved  that  Uriah  Devon  had  contrived  to 
have  his  way. 

Occasionally  Mrs.  Devon  lifted  her  head  to 
listen  and  turned  her  eyes  to  the  west  where  at 
the  side  of  the  Hoghole,  through  which  rushed  a 

17 


18     The  Shadow  of  I  he  Sheltering  Pines 

spring  freshet,  a  narrow  path  zigzagged  its  h 
up  the  hill  to  the  Bo'i'evard.  Into  her  tortured 
soul  had  come  a  beliei  since  the  night  before,  that 
Tony's  "Gloriest  God,''  would  s"nd  her  man 
home.  It  was  this  hope  that  had  perched  her  this 
clear  spring  aiternoon  on  the  deck  of  the  "Dirty 
Mary."  She  desired  to  glimpse  him  the  moment 
he  came  in  sight.  It  would  be  down  the  path  he 
would  come,  for  Uriah  Devon  was  too  wise  to 
cross  the  marshes  after  a  heavy  week's  rain. 
Shivering,  she  drew  a  ragged  shawl  more  closely 
about,  her  thin  shoulders,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
her  attention  was  centered  on  a  canoe  which  glided 
by  the  canal  boat  and  became  but  a  bobbing  speck 
on  its  way  northward. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  in  the 
forest  path  brought  her  sharply  around.  At  last  he 
was  coming,  this  man  she  loved,  perhaps  drunk, 
:>erhaps  to  beat  her;  but  nevertheless  he  was  com- 
ing, and  that  was  all  she  cared  about.  When  he 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  ragged  rocks  and 
gingerly  made  his  crooked  way  down  to  the  shore, 
the  woman's  yellow  skin  took  on  a  distinct  pallor. 


The  Master  of  the  "Dirty  Mary"      19 

He  was  drunk,  and  in  times  like  this  she  shrank 
from  contact  with  his  heavy  fists. 

She  partly  rose,  then  sank  back  again.  For 
an  instant  her  lips  trembled,  but  she  drew  them 
tightly  over  her  teeth  and  smoothed  back  her  hair. 
How  many  days  before  she  had  waited  his  home 
coming  as  she  had  this  time,  long  hours  of  dread 
md  despair !  Now  he  had  been  gone  almost  all  the 
time  since  they  had  come  to  Ithaca,  and  only  last 
night  she  had  admitted  to  the  kid  fearfully  that 
he  might  be  in  jail  somewhere.  That  she  was  glad 
to  see  him  showed  in  her  heaving  bosom,  and  the 
light  that  had  suddenly  sprung  into  the  drab, 
dull  eyes. 

Uriah  Devon  slowly  walked  up  the  gangplank 
in  silence. 

"Where  you  been?"  the  woman  forced  herself 
to  say.  But  instead  of  replying,  he  demanded: 

"Where's  Tonnibel?" 

"I  dunno,"  was  the  answer.  "A  minute  ago  she 
was  over  there  not  ten  of  your  legs'  jumps  from 
here.  .  .  .  Where  you  been  all  this  week?" 

In  silence  the  man  took  out  his  pipe,  pressed 
it  full  of  tobacco,  then  lighted  it  deliberately  and 


20     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

with  a  deft  puckering  of  his  lips  sent  small  gray 
rings  of  smoke  drifting  over  the  lake. 

He  watched  them  as  they  broke  away  and  dis- 
appeared, and  the  woman  made  a  swift  mental 
survey  of  him. 

He'd  been  on  a  terrible  spree,  she  decided.  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  drunk  for  days.  That 
he  had  something  unusual  on  his  mind,  she  knew, 
and  she  knew  too  it  was  about  Tonnibel,  for 
hadn't  he  asked  for  the  kid  the  moment  he'd 
returned?  After  a  long  space  of  quietude  through 
which  she  almost  held  her  breath,  the  man 
dumped  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  over  the  deck-rail 
and  put  in  into  his  pocket. 

"It's  about  time  we  was  doing  things,  Ede,"  he 
said,  turning  grimly.  "I've  waited  as  long  as  I 
dared.  Rege  says  'Paul  Pendlehaven  hasn't  an 
inch  leeway  before  he's  in  his  coffin.'  That  much 
I  wedged  out  of  the  boy.  He  hates  talkin'  about 
Pendlehavens  something  awful." 

Airs.  Devons'  face  grew  deathly  pale. 

"What  do  you  mean,  honey?"  she  faltered. 

"We  live  like  rats  in  a  hole,"  took  up  the  man, 
after  a  pause,  "while  if  Tony  was  made  to  do 


The  Master  of  the  "Dirty  Mary"      21 

her  part,  we'd  be  on  easy  street.  That's  what  I 
mean." 

"Oh,  you  make  me  sick,"  came  in  a  whine. 
"You'd  get  more  money  than  we  could  use  if 
you'd  be  content  to  draw  lumber  to  Albany  and 
not  biff  off  and  get  drunk  every  little  while,  and 
spend  your  last  red  with  mutts  like  Reggie  Brown. 
I'm  all  right — Tony's  all  right " 

"Tonnibel'll  be  all  right  if  she  does  my  will," 
broke  in  the  man,  setting  his  jaw.  "We've  got  to 
have  money  and  lots  of  it.  Reggie's  willing  to 
marry  the  kid  if  you  mind  your  business  after- 
wards. His  marryin'  her  ain't  sayin'  he'll  stick 
to  her.  But  we  got  to  have  boodle,  and  we  can't 
get  it  only  through  her." 

"He  shan't  have  'er,"  the  woman  said,  with 
hard  tones  and  flashing  eyes.  "How  many  times  've 
I  got  to  say  it  over  to  you?  If  that's  the  why 
you've  come  to  Ithaca,  you  might  as  well  turn 
the  old  scow  north  and  go  back  again." 

"Keep  your  mouth  shut  on  that,"  snapped 
Devon,  lifting  his  fist.  Evidently  he  changed  his 
mind  as  to  the  use  of  it,  for  his  arm  dropped  and 


22     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines- 

his  fingers  slowly  relaxed.  The  woman  took  he  art 
at  this. 

"He's  a  bum,"  she  went  on.  "A  dude  and  a 
fool  and  everything  else  that's  bad.  He's  a  thief 
too." 

Devon  laughed. 

"So  am  I,  F.de."  said  he.  "So  're  you  for  that 
matter.  If  Reggie  knew  that  Tony  was  Paul 
Pendlehaven's  kid,  we  wouldn't  get  one  damn 
cent  ot  her  money.  He  snitches  from  the  Pendle- 
havens  and  his  mother  because  he  don't  get  cash 
enough  other  ways.  A  feller's  got  to  have  spend- 
in'  money." 

"Pretty  small  pickin's,"  sneered  Edith  Devon. 
"Now  them  clothes  he  give  you  the  day  you  left! 
They  belonged  to  Paul  Pendlehaven,  and  he's 
dyin'.  Stealin'  from  iolks  almost  in  the  grave 
ain't  my  style.  Reggie's  some  second  story  man. 
that  young  duffer  is." 

"You  sneaked  Paul's  kid,"  taunted  Devon. 
"He  wouldn't  be  almost  in  his  grave  now  if  you'd 
kept  your  hands  off'n  Tony." 

The  woman  turned  on  him  savagely,  paying  no 
heed  to  his  words. 


The  Master  of  the  "Dirty  Mary"      23 

"Get  your  blasted  Reggie  to  steal  enough  for 
us  all  from  the  Pendlehavens,"  she  said.  "God 
knows  they've  got  it  and  to  spare.  It's  better'n 
handin'  Tony  over  to  'im.  He  lives  at  Pendle- 
haven's,  don't  he?' 

"He  won't  do  it,"  cut  in  Devon.  "Reggie  ain't 
got  the  nerve  to  burn  his  fingers  too  deep.  Paul 
Pendlehaven'd  send  him  up  for  that,  if  he  caught 
him." 

Mrs.  Devon  made  a  sound  between  a  guttural 
laugh  and  a  grunt. 

"Rats!  Paul  Pendlehaven  wouldn't  send  any 
one  up  for  stealin',  that  boob  wouldn't,"  she  con- 
tradicted. "Leastwise  his  own  folks,  and  Reggie's 
his  cousin's  kid.  Paul's  too  damned  religious  for 
that.  But  he'd  send  me  up  if  he  finds  out  I  stole 
his  girl  when  she  wasn't  knee  high  to  a  grass- 
hopper." 

"He  won't  never  find  it  out  if  you  keep  your 
clack  shut,"  was  the  gruff  reply.  "He's  almost 
dead,  and  my  plan  is  to  get  Tony  married  to  Rege, 
and  before  the  lid's  screwed  down  on  Pendle- 
haven's  face,  shove  the  girl  in  between  John  Pen- 
dlehaven and  his  precious  cousin,  Reggie's  mother, 


24     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

and  then  Rege  and  me  gets  Tony's  money,  see?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  do,"  drawled  Mrs.  Devon. 
"But  I  do  know  one  thing.  Tony'd  die  in  the 
house  with  that  Curtis  woman  and  her  spoiled 
girl.  Reggie'd  kill  'er,  and  the  women  folks'd 
make  the  house  too  hot  to  hold  her.  Anyhow,  she 
loves  me,  and  her  mother's  dead.  I've  treated  her 
better'n  any  of  the  rest  of  'em  would,  mebbe, 
savin'  her  father  and  John  Pendlehaven.  They 
all  hated  her." 

"So  you  left  and  brought  her  away,"  meditated 
the  man,  sullenly. 

"Yes,  I  did,  and  I  was  a  damn  fool  to  tell  you 
anything  about  it !  God,  but  I  been  maudlin  over 
you !  I  liked  the  kid  when  I  took  'er,  and  I  like 
her  now." 

"Well,  I  don't,"  thrust  back  the  man,  "she 
gets  on  my  nerves.  And  the  day's  at  hand  for 
her  to  do  something.  She's  got  to  marry  Reggie 
and  do  it  quick." 

He  paused,  took  out  his  pipe  and  refilled  it. 
With  it  suspended  between  his  fingers,  he  pro- 
ceeded huskily. 

"You  did  say,  Ede,  that  Tonnibel  was  rich, 


The  Master  of  the  "Dirtij  Mary"      25 

now  didn't  you"?  What's  hers  is  ours — mine. 
And  Reggie's  if  he  marries  her.  Him  and  me'll 
halve  it  in  two,  and  to  hell  with  the  kid.  Fix  it 
up  with  her  some  way,  only  fix  it  up — see'?" 

On  the  end  of  the  last  sentence,  he  turned  his 
hollow  eyes  toward  her,  thrust  the  pipe  between 
his  lips  and  lit  it.  "And  if  you  value  livin'  a  few 
more  years,"  he  added,  "don't  peach  to  the  kid 
she's  Pendlehaven's.  I'll  kill  you,  Ede,  if  you 
do,  and  that's  a  easy  thing  for  me  when  I  make 
my  mind  up,  and  the  deep  places  of  the  lake 
don't  give  up  their  dead.  You'll  mind — eh?" 

Edith  shivered. 

"I  hear  what  you  say,"  she  muttered,  "and  I 
'spose  I'll  do  it  if  you  promise  not  to  let  that  pup 
hurt  Tony  when  he  gets  her.  .  .  .  Best  let's  wait 
another  year  before  talkin'  marriage  to  her, 
though." 

"Nothin'  doin',"  rasped  the  man.  "Tony's  al- 
most a  woman,  and  she's  eatin'  her  head  off.  She 
always  has  to  have  two  helpin's  at  the  table  when 
one  ought  to  fill  her  gullet.  After  she's  mar- 
ried  " 

The  last  three  words  were  spoken  ominously. 


26     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

He  broke  the  statement  off  with  a  sulky,  "God, 
but  you're  as  thin  as  a  stepped-on  angle- worm, 
Ede!" 

"And  afterwards  you  two  men'll  rag  the  kid 
to  death  or  do  something  worse  to  her,"  gritted 
the  woman,  paying  no  heed  to  his  personal  taunt. 
"Well,  you  won't!  Rather'n  have  that  I'll  tell 
her  she  ain't  ours.  I'll  go  right  bold  to  Paul 
Pendlehaven  and  blurt  him  the  truth.  I'll  do  it 
to-day  if  you  keep  naggin'  at  me." 

Devon  studied  her  face,  his  own  distorted  with 
rage. 

"You'll  do  no  such  a  thing,  mad  woman,"  he 
returned,  running  his  tongue  over  his  dry,  cracked 
lips.  "If  you  get  me  in  a  temper  you'd  better  look 
out.  Reggie  knows  Tonnibel's  got  rich  folks,  but 
he  don't  know  who  they  are.  You  spill  the  beans, 
by  God,  and  the  lake  for  yours.  Reggie  says 

"I  wouldn't  trust  him  as  far  as  I  could  sling 
a  cat  by  the  tail,"  interjected  Mrs.  Devon,  hoarse- 
ly. "I  won't  give  him  that  baby.  I  won't,  I 
won't.  She's  mine!  She  ain't  yours,  Uriah." 

"But  you'll  leave  her  to  me  just  the  same," 
thrust  back  Devon,  bending  over  toward  her 


The  Master  of  the  "Dirty  Mary"      27 

fiercely.  "Leave  her  to  me,  I  say."  The  mur- 
derous light  in  his  bloodshot  eyes  sent  the  woman 
shivering  against  the  boat  rail,  and  as  the  man 
fell  into  a  moody  silence,  she  dared  say  no  more. 

"I  hope  you  won't  start  to  lickin'  the  kid 
again,"  she  burst  forth  presently.  "I  can't  stand 
seein'  you  beat  her." 

The  man's  eyes  came  slowly  to  the  speaker's 
face. 

"If  she  does  what  I  bid  'er,  I'll  leave  the  wal- 
loping to  Reggie,"  he  muttered.  "I  tell  you,  she 
gets  on  my  nerves." 

"That's  because  you  don't  know  what  a  heart 
she's  got,"  was  the  weary  reply.  "She  ain't  our 
kind,  Tony  ain't.  She  loves  everything  in  the 
world  from  her  pig  down  to — me.  She'd  like  you 
too  if  she  wasn't  so  cussed  afraid  of  vou." 

j 

"I  don't  want  'er  to  like  me,  mam !  Sharin'  up 
love  with  pigs  and  things  like  that,  ain't  to  my 
likin'." 

Edith  eyed  him  for  some  moments. 

"Mebbe  not,"  she  admitted.  "And  I  don't 
blame  you  over  much.  Men  're  that  way.  They 
want  the  hull  hog  or  none.  The  woe  to  me  has 


28     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pings 

been,  I  couldn't  see  nothin,  but  love  tearin'  at 
me  for  you." 

"And  a  little  mixed  in  for  Tonnibel,"  sneered 
Devon.  "You  ain't  fooled  me  all  these  years, 
Ede.  You've  abused  'er  before  me  and  molly- 
coddled 'er  behind  my  back.  God-all-Hemlocks, 
you  both  make  me  sick  in  my  stomick.  I  said,  I 
didn't  want  the  brat  to  like  me!" 

Whether  to  gain  time  or  because  she  had  de- 
cided to  go  against  him,  the  woman  retorted : 

"Say,  you  got  a  sweet  mood  a  settin'  on  your 
chest,  ain't  you,  Riah1?  You  got  out  the  wrong 
side  of  the  bed  this  morning,  I  guess.  What's 
eatin'  you  anyway?" 

"Nothin'  much,  only  I  want  the  kid  to  under- 
stand what's  what,"  Devon  grunted. 

Again  the  woman's  gaze  sought  the  sheet  ot 
blue  water. 

"She'll  grow  a  beard  a  mile  long  before  I  tell 
'er,"  she  said  finally,  bringing  her  eyes  back  to 
his  face.  "Tell  'er  yourself,  and  see  how  you  like 
it!" 

There  was  a  ring  of  revolt  in  her  tones  that 
brought  an  expression  of  surprise  to  the  man's 


The  Master  of  the  "Dirty  Mary"      29 

face,  leaving  it  angrily,  frowningly  red.  But  the 
sound  cf  a  girl's  voice  off  on  the  hill  brought  him 
suddenly  to  his  feet. 

"There  she  is,  by  God,"  he  cried  abruptly. 
"Now  if  you  want  any  more  lovin's  from  me — 
more'n  that  if  you  want  to  stay  where  I  live,  you 
got  to  do  my  will." 

"Uriah,  honey  darlin',"  cried  Edith,  "don't 
say  that.  I've  always  stuck  by  you." 

"Then  keep  a  stickin',"  growled  Devon.  "For 
God's  sake,  if  the  brat  ain't  lugged  that  pig  clean 
up  that  pine  tree!" 


CHAPTER  III 

URIAH   DEVON    NAMES  THE   PRICE 

THE  speaker's  wife  got  up  with  a  sigh  and 
looked  off  in  the  direction  her  husband  was  point- 
ing. Above  them  a  giant  pine  tree  lifted  its  head 
far  above  its  fellows.  Among  its  branches  the  man 
and  woman  could  plainly  see  the  upper  half  of 
a  girl's  figure  settled  in  the  crotch  of  an  outspread- 
ing limb,  and  clasped  in  two  slender  arms  was 
the  small  guinea  pig.  She  bobbed  her  head 
gravely,  held  up  the  animal  and  shook  it  at  them. 

Tony,  herself,  little  knew  why  in  times  of  strife 
she  sought  refuge  among  these  forest  giants  and 
came  always  to  happiness.  They  were  animated 
beings  in  her  mean  little  world  and  because  she 
had  showered  idolatrous  love  on  them  they,  from 
their  primeval  grandeur,  sent  an  answering  spark 
of  life  to  her  starved  little  soul.  The  sight  ot 
Tony  further  enraged  Uriah.  He  waved  her  in. 


Uriah  Devon  Names  the  Price        31 

"Now  tell  her  outright,  and  get  it  over,  Ede," 
he  said,  sitting  down  again. 

Like  a  squirrel,  the  girl  slipped  down  the  tree 
to  the  ground,  the  pig  hanging  to  one  arm.  Then 
she  picked  her  way  toward  the  boat,  unmindful 
of  the  briars  and  thorns  that  once  in  a  while 
touched  her  bare  legs.  Half  way  she  paused  as 
a  hidden  squirrel  chattered  somewhere  above  her. 
She  tossed  her  face  upward  and  smiled  as  if  to 
a  friend.  The  squalor  of  her  life  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  choking  the  love  of  nature  from  Ton- 
nibel  Devon's  heart.  She  adored  the  blue  of  the 
sky,  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the  flowers  that 
grew  in  profusion  along  the  streams  and  lay  hid- 
den in  the  forest. 

She  would  much  rather  have  gone  back  to  the 
branch  in  the  tree  than  to  the  boat,  for  Tonnibel 
would  put  off  the  dreadful  moment  of  meeting 
her  father  if  she  dared.  However,  at  another  wave 
of  Devon's  hand,  she  moved  on  with  a  slight 
shiver. 

She  wondered  what  he  wanted  her  for  as  she 
climbed  down  the  rocks  to  the  path.  For  an  in- 


§2     The  Shadow  of  Hie  Sheltering  Pineg 

stant  after  reaching  the  canal  boat,  she  stood 
looking  at  her  parents. 

"Set  down,"  growled  Devon. 

Shifting  the  pig  a  little,  she  dropped  down  on 
the  deck.  She  always  dreaded  these  talks  with 
her  father  and  mother.  It  usually  meant  they 
must  move  on,  or  perhaps  that  a  thrashing  was 
coming  her  way.  From  under  her  long  lashes  she 
glimpsed  first  Devon  with  his  frowning  brow, 
then  at  length  let  her  gaze  settle  on  the  woman. 

"I  s'pose  I  been  doin'  something  hellish,"  she 
ventured  presently  in  a  low  tone.  "Have  I, 
Edie?" 

"Nope,  not  this  time,  Tony,"  thrust  in  Devon. 
"But  we've  got  to  tell  you  something.  You're 
gettin'  to  be  a  woman  now,  Tonnibel,  and  you 
got  to  do  something  for  your  mother  and  me." 

At  the  wheedling  tones  the  young  head  flung 
upwards,  and  the  pig  slid  to  the  boat  deck.  A 
flash  of  pity  deepened  the  gray  eyes,  and  the 
sensitive  lips  quivered. 

"I'm  always  wantin'  to  do  something  nice  for 
you,  Edie,  darling,"  she  said,  looking  at  her 


Uriah  Devon  Names  the  Price        33 

mother.  "Yap  it  out  quick,  sweet,  and  I'll  jump 
to  do  it!" 

The  woman  began  to  cry  softly,  and  Tonnibel 
hitched  across  the  deck  and  leaned  her  head 
against  her  mother's  knee. 

"Don't  do  that,"  she  breathed.  "Don't  cry, 
mummy  dear.  Your  kid  loves  you." 

But  the  tender  tones  only  brought  a  renewed 
burst  of  tears  from  Mrs.  Devon. 

"Just  go  on,  and  tell  me,  honey,"  insisted  the 
girl.  "Just " 

"Yes,  go  on,  Ede,"  came  in  interruption  from 
Uriah  Devon.  "Why  in  hell  are  you  blubberin' 
over  a  thing  you  can't  help*?" 

"But  I  can  help  it,"  cried  Edith.  "And  what's 
more  I  will.  Run  away,  baby,  and  I'll  have  it  out 
with  your  Pop  while  you're  gone." 

Devon  reached  forward  and  laid  a  strong  de- 
taining hand  on  the  girl's  arm. 

"It's  this,"  he  got  out  between  his  teeth.  "You 
got  to  get  married.  You  been  livin'  on  me  long 
enough." 

He  hadn't  intended  to  place  the  matter  so 
abruptly  and  wouldn't  have  done  it  but  for 


34     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Edith's  outburst.  The  girl  stared  at  him 
blankly. 

"Get  married,"  she  repeated  dully.  "Who'd 
marry  a  brat  like  me?  I'm  nothin'  but  a  kid  yet, 
and  I'm  goin'  to  stay  right  here  with  my  mother. 
See?  I  don't  have  to — do  I,  mummy  darlin"?" 

"Your  ma's  word  ain't  law  on  this  boat," 
answered  Uriah,  in  an  ugly  tone.  "Mine  is, 
though.  Fire  ahead,  Ede,  and  tell  the  kid  my 
will." 

Mrs.  Devon  coughed  spasmodically  and  toyed 
with  the  fabric  of  her  skirt.  A  slender  brown  hand 
went  up  and  closed  over  her  twitching  fingers. 

"I  wouldn't  marry  any  of  the  mutts  you  know, 
daddy,"  the  girl  burst  out  in  desperation.  ''So  get 
that  notion  clean  out  of  your  mind." 

Her  face  settled  sullenly  into  little  lines  that 
pursed  up  the  lovely  young  mouth,  and  Uriah 
Devon  moved  his  feet  nervously.  Perhaps  his  task 
wasn't  going  to  be  so  easy  after  all. 

"Kid,"  he  said  huskily,  "if  you  don't  do  what 
you're  told,  I'll  make  you.  You  ain't  too  old  to 
gad  yet.  And  you'll  be  missin'  one  of  the  best 
lickin's  you  ever  got  if  you  mind  what  I  tell  you. 


Uriah  Devon  Names  the  Price        35 

Your  mother  here's  too  damned  mealy  mouthed 
for  any  purpose  of  mine.  Me  and  you'll  get  on 
fine  if  you  buck  up  to  my  words." 

The  same  wheedling  tone  came  into  his  voice 
on  the  last  sentence.  The  girl  eyed  him  curiously, 
making  a  sidewise  gesture  with  her  head. 

"Who's  the  duffer  you've  chose  out  for  me*?" 
she  asked  at  length.  "You  might  as  well  tell  me." 

"My  friend,  Reggie,"  said  Devon,  bending  over 
and  staring  at  her. 

Tonnibel's  mouth  widened  until  two  rows  of 
teeth  gleamed  through  the  red  of  her  lips. 

"Goddy,  how  funny,"  she  gulped.  "I  thought 
you  was  in  earnest,  pappy.  Why,  that  mutt's  a 
devil.  He  even  kicked  my  Gussie-piglet  here.  Any 
man  who'd  hurt  a  little  feller  like  Gussie  'd  beat 

his  woman She  made  a  wry  face — 

"Nothin'  like  that  for  me,— eh,  Edie?' 

Edith  Devon  was  coming  to  a  resolution  that 
meant  trouble  for  herself  and  for  Tonnibel. 

"I  ain't  fought  it  all  out  with  your  daddy, 
kid,"  she  sniffled  weakly.  "You  get  to  the  cabin 
and  mend  them  old  clothes." 


36     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Uriah  Devon  laid  his  pipe  beside  him  and 
uttered  an  oath. 

"You'll  stay  right  here,  brat,"  he  gritted,  "and 
pay  heed  to  me." 

"Uriah,"  screamed  the  woman,  "if  you  go  on 
with  this,  I'll  tell  'er  all  I  know.  I  swear  I  will. 
Tony,  honey,  Tony  baby,  I — I  ain't " 

With  a  roar  the  man  sprang  forward  and  in  his 
effort  to  reach  his  wife  knocked  the  girl  flat  on 
the  deck.  When  Tonnibel  rolled  over  and  sat  up, 
her  mother  was  stretched  along  the  boat  rail,  and 
Devon  was  standing  over  her.  She  lay  so  dread- 
fully still  and  limp  that  the  girl  scrambled  to 
her  feet. 

It  wasn't  the  same  Tony  who  had  come  fear- 
fully to  them  but  a  short  period  before  with  the 
little  pig  in  her  arms;  nor  the  same  girl  who  had 
swung  in  the  tree  tops  making  play  fellows  of 
the  squirrels  and  answering  the  shrill  calls  of  the 
forest  birds.  She  seemed  suddenly  to  have  grown 
taller,  and  as  she  flung  herself  on  Devon,  the  very 
strength  of  her  lithe  body  sent  him  sprawling 
against  the  side  of  the  cabin. 

"Now  you  killed  her,  damn  you,"  she  screamed. 


Uriah  Devon  Names  the  Price        37 

"If  you  kick  'er— I'll— I'll "  She  dropped  at 

the  side  of  her  mother,  her  threat  broken  in  two 
by  the  awful  pallor  on  the  woman's  face.  "Oh, 
God,  mummy  darlin',  mummy  darlin',"  she  ended 
in  a  bitter  cry. 

Growling  in  rage,  Devon  turned  on  her. 

"Mebbe  I  have  killed  'er,"  said  he.  "If  so,  I'll 
make  a  good  job  of  it  and  finish  you  too." 

The  girl  rose  before  him,  her  eyes  blazing  into 
his,  her  little  fists  clenched  together. 

"Folks  that  murder  other  people,  Pappy 
Devon,"  she  shot  back,  "get  strapped  in  a  chair, 
and  they  get  lightning  run  through  'em.  Go  on 
and  finish  up!  Go  on  and  finish  me!  I'd  ruther 
have  you  kill  me  than  make  me  marry  that  old 
Reggie." 

As  if  his  name  had  brought  him  out  of  the 
forest,  Reginald  Brown  walked  down  the  Hog- 
hole  path. 

"Ah!"  hissed  through  Devon's  teeth.  '"Now, 
miss,  I  guess  you  won't  be  so  cussed  impudent. 
Here's  two  of  us  to  deal  with." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PICTURE  OF  A   BABY 

TONNIBEL'S  heart  jumped  almost  into  her 
throat,  then  seemed  to  cease  beating.  There  stood 
her  father  growling,  enraged  and  drunk,  and  as 
if  she  were  dead  and  no  longer  able  to  help  her 
child,  her  mother  lay  almost  within  touching 
distance.  And  between  her  and  the  forest  depths, 
where  she  daily  fled  from  brutality,  was  the  bit- 
terest enemy  she  knew.  Not  until  this  hour  had 
she  thought  of  that  swaggering,  advancing  young 
man  as  an  enemy.  Always  before  he  had  been  but 
a  passing  presence,  coming  and  going  as  he  liked, 
amid  a  disdainful  silence  on  her  part  and  her 
mother's. 

But  to-day — oh,  God — -to-day  how  things  had 
changed!  If  Uriah  carried  out  his  plans,  then  the 
horrid  fellow  there  would  soon  claim  her  as  his 
woman.  That  thought  frightened  her  so  that  she 


The  Picture  of  a  Baby  39 

stepped  back  as  the  newcomer  came  upon  the 
deck. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ry4?"  he  asked  quite 
casually. 

"He's  killed  mummy,"  burst  forth  the  girl. 
"And  if  both  you  fellers  don't  want  to  get 
pinched,  you'd  better  scoot  offen  this  boat." 

Uriah  laughed,  and  Reggie's  high-pitched 
cackle  followed. 

"Been  giving  your  woman  a  little  discipline,  eh, 
pal?"  he  demanded,  turning  on  Devon.  "Wel^ 
they  all  need  it  now  and  then.  But  she's  the 
liveliest  breathing  corpse  I  ever  saw.  Did  you  hit 
'er,  Dev?" 

"Yep,"  growled  the  other  man,  "and  I'm  goin" 
to  beat  Tony  too.  The  impudent  brat  says  she 
wouldn't  marry  you  if  you  was  the  last  man 
livin'." 

Reggie  turned  a  pair  of  muddy-colored  eyes  on 
Tonnibel,  and  she  quailed  beneath  the  slow  smile 
that  ran  around  his  sensuous  mouth. 

"She's  never  seen  me  mad  yet,"  he  said,  bring- 
ing his  heels  together  with  a  click,  "and  when  she 
does,  I  guess  she'll  be  glad  to  marry  me.  Put  your 


40     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

woman  below,  Uriah.  If  any  one  passes  on  the 
lake,  it  might  arouse  suspicion  to  see  her  there. 
God,  but  you  did  give  her  a  wallop,  didn't  you, 
Devon'?" 

Devon  assented  by  a  nod  of  his  head,  followed 
by,  "Sure,  you  bet  your  feet  I  did!  You  watch 
the  brat  there,  Rege,  while  I  duck  Ede  in  the 
cabin.  .  .  .  Oh,  God,  these  women!"  he  ended 
with  a  grunt. 

Tonnibel,  wide-eyed  and  suffering,  saw  her 
father  lift  her  mother  up  in  his  brawny  arms  and 
carry  her  downstairs,  none  too  gently.  When  he 
had  disappeared,  a  throat  sound  made  her  swing 
her  eyes  to  the  other  man.  He  was  contemplating 
her  with  a  smile,  an  evil  smile,  such  as  she  hated 
in  men.  His  white  teeth  seemed  like  many  gleam- 
ing knives,  sharp,  strong,  and  overhanging,  his 
red  lips  spreading  away  from  them. 

He  took  a  step  toward  her  and  stopped. 

"Why  so  much  fuss  about  nothing,  my  little 
one'^"  he  said,  cooing. 

"Daddy  said  I  had  to  marry  you,"  breathed 
the  girl,  brushing  back  a  stray  curl  from  her  brow. 
"But  I  don't!  I'm  goin'  to  stay  with  my  mother 


The  Picture  of  a  Baby  41 

on  the  'Dirty  Mary.'  Anyway  you're  a  swell,  and 
a  swell  can't  want  to  marry  a  kid  like  me." 

"But  what  if  I  do,  sweetheart?"  Reggie  mur- 
mured, mincing  forward  another  step. 

Tonnibel  widened  the  space  between  them  by 
sliding  backward. 

"I  won't,  you  can  bank  on  it,  I  won't,"  she 
snapped.  "There  ain't  no  law  forcing  a  girl  to 
marry  a  man  she  don't  like.  And  I  hate  you,  see? 
Huh4?" 

"Who  spoke  of  a  law?"  smiled  Brown.  "I 
didn't  I  But  I  do  know,  my  little  Tony-girl,  that 
you'll  say  a  very  meek  'yes'  when  I  get  through 
with  you." 

Tonnibel  suddenly  shuddered  and  a  hopeless, 
helpless  feeling  went  in  waves  over  her.  She 
hadn't  lived  all  her  young  years  among  her 
father's  kind  without  knowing  that  women  meant 
little  to  the  men  who  came  about  them.  She  shot 
a  glance  to  the  western  hill. 

Oh,  to  be  anywhere  in  God's  clear,  clean  world ! 
Away  from  those  gleaming  lustful  eyes !  But  she 
saw  no  opportunity  to  escape.  Reginald  Brown 
was  blocking  the  small  space  through  which  she 


42     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

must  fly  if  she  were  to  be  saved  at  all.  She  knew 
very  well  if  she  could  hide  for  a  little  while  the 
two  men  would  drink  until  they  slept.  Then  she 
could  come  back  and  help  her  mother.  Plainly  she 
had  heard  the  woman  weeping  below  in  the  cabin, 
and  even  more  plainly  to  her  suffering  ears  came 
Devon's  blows,  and  after  that — silence. 

Her  heart  thumped  like  a  hammer  against  her 
side.  Behind  her  lay  the  shining  lake.  And  one 
hasty  glance  over  her  shoulder  only  added  to  her 
fear.  There  was  not  a  sign  of  a  boat  anywhere. 
She  was  frantic  enough  to  scream  if  it  would  have 
done  her  any  good. 

"I  think  I'll  kiss  you,  my  little  bird,"  said  Reg- 
gie, suddenly,  narrowing  his  eyes.  "You're  pretty 
enough  for  any  one  to  want  to  kiss.  By  Jove,  I 
never  realized  until  to-day  just  how  much  I  liked 
you.  If  I  kissed  you,  well — perhaps  you'd  change 
your  mind  about — about  things." 

Kiss  her?  God!  she'd  rather  die  than  have  his 
wet  red  lips  against  her  face.  He  was  lessening 
the  distance  between  them  with  short  clicking 
steps,  but  like  a  cat  torturing  a  mouse,  he  was  do- 
ing it  slowly,  smiling  the  while,  and  as  slowly 


The  Picture  of  a  Baby  43 

Tonnibel  slid  backward  to  the  boat  rail.  When 
she  touched  it,  she  whirled  about  and  dove  head- 
long into  the  lake. 

When  Reginald  Brown  saw  the  girl's  feet  dis- 
appear under  the  water,  he  uttered  an  oath  and 
cried  out.  He  hadn't  expected  such  an  action  on 
her  part.  He  ran  to  the  cabin  steps  and  screamed 
to  Devon. 

"She's  in  the  lake,  Ry,"  he  shivered  as  the  other 
man  sprang  to  the  deck. 

Then  with  searching  eyes  they  watched  the 
lake's  surface  for  Tonnibel  to  appear.  Devon 
knew  that  there  where  she  had  leapt  in  the  water 
was  deep.  He  knew,  too,  that  she  swam  like  a 
fish. 

\Vhen  Tonnibel  felt  the  water  cover  her,  she 
swept  to  the  lake's  bottom  with  one  long  stroke. 
Then  deftly  she  rid  herself  of  her  dress  skirt  and 
began  to  swim  swiftly  under  the  water. 

They  were  tense  minutes  that  the  two  men  stood 
waiting,  until  suddenly  beyond  them  to  the  south 
a  curly  head  came  above  the  water's  edge.  Then 
they  leapt  to  the  shore  and  raced  toward  the  place 
she  must  land.  To  the  panting  girl  it  was  a  race 


44     The  Shadow  of  ike  Sheltering  Pines 

for  life.  She  didn't  dare  turn  back  and  swim 
out  into  the  lake  and,  fighting  down  a  cry,  she 
measured  the  distance  her  enemies  had  to  run  and 
the  stretch  of  water  between  her  and  the  shore. 

Suddenly,  like  a  flashing  glimpse  from  Heaven, 
the  words,  "Stand  still  and  see  the  Salvation  of 
the  Lord,"  floated  before  her  eyes  like  a  flame  of 
gold.  Philip  MacCauley's  deep  voice  seemed  to 
speak  them  in  her  ringing  ears  immediately  after. 
"Goddy,"  she  groaned,  "Salvation  of  the  Lord, 
oh,  darlin'  Salvation." 

Just  then  her  feet  touched  the  pebbles  on  the 
bottom  of  the  lake.  With  one  wild  leap  she  was 
on  the  shore  and  up  the  bank,  Uriah  screaming  at 
her  to  stop. 

She  heard  the  two  men  crashing  after  her.  That 
her  short,  swift  leaps  could  outdistance  them  for 
long  if  she  tried  for  the  Boulevard,  she  had  no 
hop€.  But  all  about  her  were  giant  friends  with 
outstretched  arms,  offering  her  shelter.  For  one 
instant  she  paused,  then  sprang  into  the  air,  caught 
the  lower  branch  of  a  great  pine  tree  and  like  a 
squirrel  scurried  up  it.  Almost  at  the  top, 
spanned  over  by  the  blue  sky,  she  crawled  out 


The  Picture  of  a  Baly  ^ 

to  the  end  of  a  big  limb  and  clung  to  it.  Be- 
neath her  the  men  paused  and  shouted  curses  up 

at  her.  Tonnibel  cared  nothing  for  curses.  She'd , 
heard  them  an  lier  ine,  used  them,  too,  when  she 
felt  like  it.  After  resting  a  few  moments,  she 
slowly  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  down.  Devon 

was  shaking  his  fist  at  her,  and  Reginald  Brown 
was  battering  at  the  tree.  Neither  of  them  would 
dare  risk  climbing  after  her.  Tonnibel  knew 
that.  Little  by  little  she  began  to  breathe  easier. 
How  long  they  would  force  her  to  stay  there  she 
gave  no  thought.  Tonnibel  Devon  was  living 
only  by  the  minute. 

"Come  down,  huzzy,"  Devon  gritted  at  her. 
"Come  down,  or  I'll  kill  you." 

Reggie  added  to  this,  clicking  his  heels, 

"Don't  make  me  mad,  my  dear.  Come  down 
instantly,  Tony,  my  girl!" 

'Til  stay  here  till  I  die,"  she  GCfeamed  back, 
sticking  out  her  tongue.  "Go  on  home,  Pop,  and 
help  Edie." 

"Help  her  yourself,"  shouted  Devon. 

Then  he  picked  up  a  stone  and  threw  it  at  her. 
It  fell  short  of  the  swinging  figure  by  a  few  feet 


46     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

and  crashed  through  the  lower  branches  to  the 
ground.  The  stone  frightened  Tonnibel  more 
than  the  oaths. 

Dazedly  she  heard  Reginald  Brown  say  to  her 
father  that  if  he  hit  her  with  a  rock  she'd  fall. 
That  caused  Devon  to  throw  away  the  stone  he 
held,  and  then  Tonnibel  saw  them  sit  down. 
With  a  sobbing  cry  she  crept  along  to  the  body 
of  the  tree  and  cuddled  there.  Hung  high  in  the 
protection  of  one  of  her  singing  pines,  her 
thoughts  became  busy  with  her  mother,  her  be- 
loved in  the  cabin  of  the  canal  boat.  Was  she 
dead,  or  would  she  soon  come  and  send  the  men 
away*? 

Suddenly  there  came  to  her  ears  the  lapping 
of  a  paddle  in  the  lake.  She  flung  up  her  head, 
peeped  out  and  saw  a  canoe  taking  its  leisurely 
way  toward  Ithaca.  She  bent  over  and  looked 
down. 

"Daddy,"  she  cried,  "there's  some  one  rowin' 
on  the  lake.  I'm  goin'  to  holler  like  hell.  And 
when  he  comes,  I'll  tell  'im  how  you  banged  Ede, 
and  if  she's  croaked,  you'll  both  get  jailed.  .  .  . 
Here's  where  I  holler!" 


The  Picture  of  a  Baby  47 

She  sent  out  a  quick  birdlike  trill,  and  the  man 
in  the  canoe  held  his  paddle  suspended  in  the 
air  as  he  studied  the  forest.  This  didn't  interest 
Tonnibel  as  much  as  did  the  fact  that  Devon 
and  Reggie  Brown  jumped  to  their  feet  and  raced 
away  toward  the  Boulevard.  Tonnibel  from  her 
perch  saw  them  disappear  toward  Ithaca  before 
she  slid  to  the  ground. 

The  man  in  the  canoe,  too,  made  but  a  short 
pause  before  he  dipped  his  paddle  and  shot  away. 
On  the  deck  of  the  boat  Tonnibel  picked  up  Gus- 
sie-Piglet  and,  dripping  wet,  went  swiftly  down 
the  cabin  steps.  There  she  found  her  mother  on 
the  bunk,  her  face  discolored  by  her  husband's 
blows.  She  looked  as  if  she  were  dead,  and  for 
a  moment  the  forlorn  child  of  the  wilderness  ut- 
tered heartbroken  little  cries  for  help. 

If  some  one  would  only  come!  If  she  only 
knew  how  to  bring  back  to  the  dear  eyes  the  light 
of  life,  to  hear  Edith  call  her,  "Honey  Tony," 
anything  rather  than  have  her  lie  there  so  still. 
The  cabin  was  cluttered  in  the  struggle  Uriah 
Devon  had  had  with  his  wife.  In  despair  Tony 
looked  around.  The  old  clothes  daddy  had 


48     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

brought  home  were  strewn  over  the  cabin  floor. 
Tonnibel  heaped  them  together,  then  began  to 
examine  them. 

They  needed  nothing  but  pressing.  This  she'd 
do  to  save  her  mother  the  work;  and  perhaps  the 
fact  that  he  had  something  ready  to  sell  would 
make  Uriah  less  brutal  when  he  came  back.  In 
running  her  fingers  over  a  coat,  searching  for 
small  rents,  Tony  felt  something  between  the  lin- 
ing and  the  outside,  a  book  it  seemed  like,  which 
she  hastily  pulled  out.  It  was  small  and  much 
worn.  Opening  it  carefully,  she  took  out  the  con- 
tents. There  wasn't  any  money  in  it,  in  fact 
nothing  but  a  picture,  wrapped  up  in  paper. 

She  looked  at  the  picture  curiously.  A  baby's 
face  smiled  up  at  her,  and  her  own  lips  curved 
a  bit  in  answer  to  the  laughing  challenge  in  the 
little  one's  eyes. 

Then  she  turned  it  over. 

On  the  back  was  written: 

"My  baby,  Caroline  Pendlehaven,  aged  six 
months.  If  this  picture  is  ever  lost  the  finder  will 
receive  a  money  reward  by  returning  it  to  Dr. 


The  Picture  of  a  Baby  49 

Paul  Pendlehaven,  Pcndlehaven  Place,  Ithaca, 
N.  Y." 

Tears  welled  into  Tonnibel's  eyes,  and  for  a 
moment  her  mind  went  to  the  father  of  the  baby. 
With  her  sleeve  she  wiped  away  her  tears.  Paul 
Pendlehaven !  She  had  often  heard  of  him. 
Hadn't  her  father  spoken  of  him  to  her  mother, 
with  hatred  in  his  tones? 

Hadn't  he  laughed  once  in  her  hearing  when 
he  had  gruffly  said  that  this  Doctor  Pendlehaven 
was  almost  dead1?  She  wished  she  might  give  him 
back  the  picture  before  he  went  to  his  grave. 

Then  suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  money 
was  offered  for  it.  Money  was  what  Edie  needed. 
Money,  food  and  a  doctor.  If  she  could  find  this 
Paul  Pendlehaven,  perhaps  in  exchange  for  the 
picture  he  would  give  her  a  bottle  of  medicine  for 
her  mother. 

Hastily  changing  her  wet  clothes,  she  slipped 
the  baby's  pictured  face  into  her  blouse,  turned 
down  the  lamp  and  crept  from  the  canal  boat  and 
with  Gussie  in  her  arms  was  soon  lost  in  the  for- 
est. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    PENDLEHAVENS 

IN  all  of  Tompkins  County  no  family  had  more 
prestige  than  Pendlehavens'.  John  and  Paul 
Pendlehaven  had  chosen  medicine  and  surgery  as 
their  vocation  when  they  were  in  college.  John 
was  a  bachelor,  and  Paul  a  widower.  At  the  time 
this  story  opens  the  latter  was  an  invalid,  his 
infirmity  brought  about  by  the  death  of  his  young 
wife  who  had  died  at  the  birth  of  their  daughter, 
and  the  disappearance  of  the  little  girl  when  she 
was  but  a  year  old.  Pendlehaven  Place  comprised 
a  whole  city  block,  on  which  stood  a  house,  almost 
a  mansion.  In  the  family  were  John,  Paul,  and 
Mrs.  Curtis  and  her  two  children,  Katherine  and 
Reginald.  Mrs.  Curtis  was  a  second  cousin  to  the 
Pendlehaven  brothers  and  had  made  her  home 
with  them  since  her  children  had  been  left  father- 
less. Mrs.  Curtis  had  buried  two  husbands, 

50 


The  Pendlehavens  51 

Silas  Curtis,  the  father  of  Katherine,  and  Edmund 
Brown,  the  father  of  Reginald. 

For  over  a  year  now  Paul  Pendlehaven  had 
not  left  his  apartments  in  the  southern  wing  of 
the  house.  Many  times  he  had  told  his  brother, 
John,  that  he  only  waited  with  what  patience  he 
could  for  the  call  to  go  away,  to  follow  after  his 
girl-wife,  and  perhaps,  well  perhaps  his  child 
might  now  be  with  her  mother. 

It  was  anguish  to  the  sturdy  John  to  listen 
to  his  brother's  wishes  to  die.  Added  to  that, 
he  was  worried  about  the  Curtis  family.  To  his 
upright  mind  they  had  settled  upon  him,  a  trio 
of  parasites. 

On  the  day  that  Uriah  Devon  returned  from 
his  week's  bout,  Dr.  Pendlehaven  was  seated  oppo- 
site his  cousin,  Mrs.  Curtis,  at  dinner. 

"Sarah,"  he  began  gravely,  "I  wish  you'd  con- 
sent to  my  taking  Reginald  in  hand  for  a  time. 
He  will  be  absolutely  ruined  if  something  isn't 
done  with  him." 

The  coquettish  smile  which  Mrs.  Curtis  always 
used  in  the  presence  of  the  eminent  doctor  left  her 
face,  and  her  lips  drew  down  at  the  corners. 


52     The;  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"What's  he  been  doing  now,  cousin  dear4?"  she 
whimpered. 

"What  doesn't  he  do  that's  wicked  and 
wrong?"  thrust  in  Katherine  Curtis.  "He  hasn't 
been  home  for  three  days." 

"I  can't  see  he's  any  different  than  any  other 
boy,"  the  mother  defended  swiftly.  "He  may 
not  be  just  what  Philip  MacCauley  is,  but 
then " 

"He  can't  hold  a  candle  to  Philip,"  interrupted 
Katherine,  serenely.  "Now,  Philip — well — ii 
Philip  weren't  connected  with  those  common  Sal- 
vation Army  people,  he'd  be — be  divine." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  broke  in  the  mother.  "It's 
always  Philip.  What  Philip  thinks,  what 
Philip  does,  just  as  if  he  were  an  angel.  Well, 
he  isn't  even  if  he  is  a  Salvationist,  I'll  have  you 
know  that.  Boys  will  be  boys!" 

Katherine  began  to  speak  again  impetuously, 
but  John  Pendlehaven  stopped  her  with  a  ges- 
ture. 

"What  Philip  does  or  what  he  doesn't  do  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Reginald,  my  dear  Sarah,"  he 


The  Pendleliavens  53 

said.  "Reginald  can  scarcely  speak  a  truthful 
word." 

"You  mean  he  lies,"  flashed  Mrs.  Curtis,  with 
an  angry  sparkle.  "I  suppose  that's  what  you 
mean,  isn't  itw?  I  think  it's  perfectly  dreadful 
the  way  everybody  picks  on  my  poor  boy.  .  .  . 
Katherine,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
and  he's  your  own  brother  too." 

"My  half  brother,  darling,"  corrected  the  girl, 
impudently.  "And  I'm  ashamed  to  admit  he  is 
any  relation  at  all.  If  he'd  pattern  after  Philip 
and  a  few  of  the  boys  who  go  to  college,  Reggie's 
family  wouldn't  need  to  be  mortified  at  the  sound 
of  his  name." 

Mrs.  Curtis  looked  belligerently  from  Dr. 
Pendlehaven  to  her  daughter. 

"What's  he  done  now?  I  asked  it  once,  and  I 
ask  it  again,"  she  cried  loudly. 

"He  isn't  going  to  college  at  all,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "He  won't  pass  any  of  his  examinations  if 
he  doesn't  go  to  class  and  get  his  hours  in.  .  .  ." 
He  paused  a  moment  and  then  went  on,  "Another 
thing  I  dislike  to  speak  of,  but  I  must.  Reginald 


54     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

has  no  idea  of  mine  and  thine.  I'm  very  much 
afraid  he  takes  what  doesn't  belong  to  him." 

Mrs.  Curtis  uttered  a  squeal. 

"Goodness  gracious,  now  you  accuse  him  of 
stealing,"  she  screamed. 

An  expression  of  sympathy  crossed  Dr.  Pen- 
dlehaven's  face.  He  felt  grieved  that  he  had  had 
to  speak  thus  to  any  mother.  How  often  he  had 
pleaded  with  Reginald  himself  to  be  honest,  but 
to  no  avail ! 

"I'm  afraid  he  does,  Sarah,"  he  answered  gen- 
tly. "Constantly  I'm  missing  money  and  things. 
It  will  hurt  you  to  know  that  some  one  almost 
stripped  my  wardrobe  of  clothes,  and  now  I  find 
there  isn't  much  left  for  poor  Paul." 

Mrs.  Curtis  started  to  speak,  but  Dr.  Pen- 
dlehaven  went  on, 

"Paul  is  very  much  distressed!  I  suppose  if 
Reginald  did  take  them,  he  thought  they  were  of 
no  value!" 

"Were  they*?"  queried  Mrs.  Curtis,  leaning 
over  the  table,  still  very  angry. 

"Why,  mamma !"  exclaimed  Katherine.     "You 


The  Pendlehavens  55 

see,  Cousin  John,  how  she  upholds  that  bad,  bad 
boy." 

"Whether  they  were  or  not,  Sarah,"  replied 
Dr.  Pendlehaven,  ignoring  his  young  cousin's 
appeal,  "they  didn't  belong  to  him.  And  they 
were  valuable  to  Paul  in  that  they  held  some- 
thing he  prized  highly." 

Something  clutched  at  his  throat  as  he  spoke. 
He  couldn't  tell  this  flippant  mother  who  shielded 
her  unruly  son  in  his  evil  deeds  that  the  only 
thing  of  any  worth  that  went  away  with  the 
clothes  was  a  baby's  picture;  and  that  much  of 
his  time  had  been  spent  with  his  sick  brother  in 
soothing  away  his  loss.  She  would  have  scoffed 
at  that,  and  the  thought  of  such  heartlessness 
gave  Dr.  John  a  twinge  in  his  side.  For  years 
both  he  and  Paul  had  given  her  and  her  childien 
a  home,  years  in  which  he  had  striven  for  her  bey 
and  girl  as  if  they'd  been  his  own. 

"It  hasn't  been  my  habit  to  interfere  between 
you  and  your  children,  Sarah,"  he  said,  "but  I 
do  wish  you'd  ask  the  boy  if  he  did  take  Paul's 
clothes.  If  he's  sold  them,  I'll  pay  whatever  the 
amount  is." 


56     Tli-e  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"How  perfectly  disgusting,"  snapped  Mrs.  Cur- 
tis. "If  the  child  did  sell  them,  thinking  they 
were  no  good,  you'd  certainly  not  want  them  back 
from  a  second  hand  shop."  She  lifted  her  hand- 
kerchief ana  began  to  cry  again.  "It  was  only  a 
boyish  prank,"  siie  wept,  "and  boys  will  be  boys. 
I  said  it  once,  and  I  say  it  again." 

"It  was  plain  stealing,  that's  what  it  was, 
mamma,"  said  Katherine,  severely,  "and  the  dis- 
gusting part  is  you  don't  say  a  thing  to  R°ggic 
about  his  wickedness."  % 

Dr.  Pendlehaven  rose  from  the  tab!*, 

"Ask  him  about  the  suits,  Sarah,"  hs  said,  walk- 
ing toward  the  doer.  "Perhaps  if  you  tell  him, 
Paul  will  give  him  a  hundred  dollar-  for  them 
and  the  contents  of  their  pock-ts,  hs'U  look  them 
up." 

Mrs.  Curtis  rose  with  dignity,  her  damp  hand- 
kerchief clenched  in  her  hand. 

"I'll  not  insult  my  only  son,"  she  said  dis- 
tinctly. 

"Then  I  will  the  minute  he  comes  back,"  thrust 
in  Katherine,  "He's  a  bad  boy.  That's  what  he 


The  Pendlehavenx  57 

With  a  gesture  of  despair,  Dr.  Pendlehaven 
went  out  of  the  room. 

For  a  moment  after  he'd  gone,  and  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps  had  been  lost  in  the  corridor,  the 
mother  stared  at  her  daughter. 

"The  fact  is,"  she  burst  out,  "it's  as  Cousin 
John  says,  I  haven't  much  influence  over  Reggie, 
but  I  don't  believe  he's  as  bad  as  people  say.  In 
a  little  town  like  this  a  person  can't  take  a  step 
sideways  without  old  wags  commenting  on  it.  I 
hate  Ithaca  for  just  that  reason." 

"If  Reggie'd  behave  himself,"  replied  the 
lady's  daughter  in  a  bored  tone,  "he  wouldn't 
have  to  be  chattered  about.  My  advice  is,  mam- 
ma, that  you  give  him  a  good  raking  over.  It's 
awful  for  him  to  steal " 

"Then  why  doesn't  Cousin  John  give  him  more 
money?"  demanded  Mrs.  Curtis. 

"He  does  give  him  a  hundred  a  month  to  spend 
as  he  likes  now,  and  yet  he  steals,"  replied  Kath- 
erine.  She  turned  squarely  upon  her  mother  and 
proceeded  sharply,  "If  you  don't  mind  your  P's 
and  Q's  you'll  never  have  Cousin  John  for  your 
third  husband,  I  can  tell  you  that.  "You're  no 


58     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

nearer  marrying  him  than  you  were  ten  years  ago, 
as  I  can  see." 

"I  will,  though,  Miss  Impudence,"  flashed  back 
the  woman.  "Paul  won't  be  much  more  than  in 
his  grave  before  your  Cousin  John  makes  me  his 
wife.  I  wish  to  Heaven  Paul  would  die,  and — • 
and  I  don't  notice  with  all  your  flirting  and  ma- 
neuvering you're  getting  your  claws  on  Philip. 
.  .  .  Ah,  that  shot  told!" 

Katherine's  face  had  gone  red  at  the  words, 
then  very  white. 

"How  perfectly  vile,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice.  Then  she  straightened  up  and 
laughed.  "Well,  I'm  not  forty-five  years  old  and 
pretending  I'm  thirty-five,  anyway,  nor  do  I  dye 
my  hair,  and  flounce  out  with  lace  to  prove  I'm 
young.  There's  a  shot  for  you,  mother  darling!': 

Mrs.  Curtis  bounced  toward  the  door,  her  head 
held  very  high. 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  I'd  never  had  any  children, 
that's  what  I  wish,"  she  cried,  turning  back  and 
looking  at  the  girl.  "Yes,  that  means  you  too, 
my  lady.  I  can't  get  enough  money  to  keep  my- 


The  Pendlehavens  59 

self  going  much  less  two  lazy  spendthrifts  like 
you  and  Reggie." 

Katherine  laughed  again. 

"Cop  Cousin  John  quick,  my  dear,"  she  taunt- 
ed, "before  you  are  in  your  second  childhood. 
And  I — well,  if  money  depends  on  Cousin  Paul's 
stepping  off — then  here's  a  prayer  to  speed  him. 
on  his  way." 

The  irate  Mrs.  Curtis  rushed  out  of  the  roomv 
followed  by  her  daughter's  mocking  laugh. 

After  a  few  moments  the  girl  got  up  and  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the  sweeping 
carriage-way.  Across  her  brow  were  tiny  crooked 
lines,  and  a  fretful  expression  distorted  the  pretty 
mouth.  She  could  see  from  where  she  stood  the 
corner  of  the  wing  in  which  Paul  Pendlehaven 
lived.  Of  late  she  had  lost  all  sympathy  for 
him.  It  was  tiresome  to  know  that  his  holding 
to  the  slender  thread  of  life  kept  away  from  her 
and  her  mother  the  funds  they  needed.  Suddenly 
a  radiating  smile  chased  away  the  shadows.  She 
lifted  her  hand  and  waved  it  and  with  happy, 
sobbing  breaths  opened  the  long  French  door  and. 
stepped  to  the  porch. 


•00     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

'I  was  in  hopes  you'd  come,  Philip,"  she  said 
:o  a  young  man,  walking  up  the  steps.     "Cousin 
John's  been  expecting  you.     Did  you  see  Reggie 
downtown'?    He  hasn't  been  home  in  three  days." 
Philip  doffed  his  cap,  arid  smiled  at  her. 
•"Quite  a  while  ago  I  saw  him  on  State  Street," 
he  said.     "I  went  down  the  lake  canoeing.     I— 

I "     His  hesitation  came  from  a  memory  of 

a  girl,  a  girl  with  gray  eyes  who  had  listened  to  his 
sermon  the  night  before  on  Love,  and  who,  so  he 
admitted  to  himself,  had  sent  him  down  the  lake 
that  afternoon. 

"Mother's  been  having  a  fit  because  the  town 
people  are  all  talking  about  Reginald,"  broke  in 
the  girl,  turning  back  into  the  house.  "He's  so 
unmanageable."  The  two  young  people  walked 
through  the  dining  room  and  into  the  spacious 
music  hall. 

Katherine  laughingly,  rosily,  inrited  the  boy  to 

be  seated. 

"I  can't  stay  a  minute,"  he  excused.  "What'* 
Reggie  been  doing,  Kathie4?" 

"He's  been  stealing,"  replied  Katherine,  "so 
Cousin  John  says.  His  and  Cousin  Paul's  clothes. 


The  Pendlehavens  61 

Think  of  it !    Such  petty  thieving.    Isn't  it  awful, 
Phil?" 

A  shocked  expression  passed  over  the  young 

man's  face. 

"Surely  he  wouldn't  steal  from  Paul  Pcndle- 
haven,"  he  said  soberly. 

"Evidently!  Cousin  John  says  he's  caught 
him  taking  things,"  replied  the  girl.  "We  just 
don't  know  what  to  do.  Cousin  John  says  there 
was  something  valuable  in  the  things  he  took  from 
Paul,  and  he  seemed  awfully  grave  about  it." 

Then  she  began  to  cry  softly. 

Much  concerned,  Philip  MacCauley  went  for- 
ward to  where  she  had  thrown  herself  into  a  chair. 
He  leaned  against  the  mantle  and  looked  down 
upon  her. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  about  it,"  he 
said  gently.  "Is  there  anything  you  could  think 
of?" 

"Perhaps  if  you  could  fetch  him  home,"  she 
burst  out.  "Perhaps  we  could " 

She  stopped,  caught  her  breath  and  went  on. 
"There  he  is  now.  I  hear  him  whistling." 

They  spoke  no  more  for  the  moment  it  took 


62     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

the  advancing  footsteps  to  reach  the  room  in 
which  they  sat. 

The  door  opened,  and  Reginald  Brown  stepped 
over  the  threshold.  He  looked  at  the  girl,  saw 
she'd  been  crying,  and  stopped. 

"What's  the  matter,  sis'?"  he  asked,  grinning. 
"Philip  been  making  you  have  a  spell  of  weeps*? 
Lecturing  you  on  your  aimless,  Christless  life — 
eh?" 

Katherine  glared  at  him. 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  she  answered  curtly.  "Where 
have  you  been,  and  what'd  you  do  with  the  clothes 
you  took  from  Cousin  Paul?  John's  furious." 

The  boy's  face  took  on  an  expression  of  sur- 
prise. 

"So  the  stately  cousin  discovered  I  did  it,  did 
he?"  he  asked.  "Well,  he  might  as  well  give  up 
all  hopes  of  seeing  them  again.  They're  gone  for 
good.  I  didn't  know  the  truck  was  worth  any- 
thing. Paul  never  goes  anywhere  to  need  'em, 
so  why  make  a  fuss?" 

"Well,  go  on,  and  see  mamma,"  said  the  girl. 
"She's  got  it  in  for  you  this  time." 

Reggie  laughed,  and  made  for  the  door. 


The  Pendlehavens  63 

"I'll  be  gone,  fair  lady,"  said  he,  "and  will 
keep  out  of  the  way  until  my  dearest  mother  gets 
back  her  charming  disposition." 

With  that  he  went  out,  and  Katherine  sighed. 

"He's  perfectly  unendurable,"  she  gasped. 
"Oh,  do  sit  down,  Philip.  I'm  wild  with  appre- 
hension." 

"I'm  sorry,  Kathie  dear,"  said  the  young  man, 
and  of  a  surety  he  was  sorry.  His  face  expressed 
more  than  mere  concern. 

"Perhaps  I  could  run  in  to-morrow,  and  we'll 
go  over  those  songs,"  he  said.  "Would  you  like 
that?  I  wish  you'd  work  among  the  squatters 
a  little.  You  do  sing  so  well." 

A  shiver  of  disgust  swept  over  the  girl. 

"I  couldn't,  Phil,"  she  replied.  "I'd  love  to 
do  something  for  you  but  not  that — not  that." 

Katherine  had  to  be  satisfied  to  have  him  leave 
her  just  then,  but  the  moment  he  was  out  of  sight 
the  lines  appeared  again  on  the  white  brow. 

For  three  years  she  had  been  madly,  passion- 
ately in  love  with  Philip  MacCauley,  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  family.  The  young  man's  home 
adjoined  hers,  and  during  his  orphaned  boyhood 


64     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

he'd  spent  a  great  deal  of  his  spare  time  at  the 
Pendlehavens'.  But  since  he'd  returned  from 
France  and  had  taken  up  the  Salvation  Army 
work,  a  work  which  Katherine  held  in  open  con- 
tempt, the  intimacy  had  about  ceased. 

For  a  long  time  after  he  had  left  her,  she  sat 
hoping  he'd  come  back  when  he  had  finished  his 
business  with  Cousin  John.  He'd  been  so  kind 
that  day,  and  the  touch  of  his  hand  thrilled  her 
KO.  When  at  length  she  v/as  assured  that  she'd 
gee  him  no  more,  the  proud  dark  head  sank  to  her 
arms,  and  she  wept  silently  until  the  stir  of  foot- 
steps told  her  some  one  was  coming,  and  she  rose 
hastily  and  slipped  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER 

DR.    JOHN    HAS    A    VISITOR 

AFTER  remaining  hidden  in  the  forest  for  some 
time,  Tonnibel  stole  along  toward  Ithaca  in  the 
gathering  gloom,  her  heart  filled  with  hope.  She 
felt  sure  that  her  father  and  his  pal  would  not 
come  back  to  the  boat  that  night  if  they  once 
got  into  a  saloon.  To  get  some  medicine  for 
Edith,  and  to  take  back  the  picture  to  the  father 
who  had  offered  money  for  it,  were  the  two  things 
she  wanted  to  do  now.  Her  young  mind  was 
busy  with  plans  for  her  mother.  If  she  could  find 
some  work  to  do,  and  Edith  would  go  with  her, 
she  would  get  well  again. 

A  choking  sensation  came  to  Tonnibel's  throat. 
Oh,  how  she  wanted  to  see  the  dear  face  wreathed 
in  smiles,  to  hear  a  glad  ring  in  the  voice  now 
perpetually  sad.  But  that  could  not  be  as  long 
as  Uriah  was  around.  Tonnibel  could  remember 

65 


66     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

the  few  times  her  father  had  spent  in  jail.  Of 
course  her  mother  missed  him,  had  longed  for 
him,  but  then  they  were  both  happier.  Their 
wants  were  few,  and  somehow  they  managed  to 
get  enough  to  eat  and  to  live  on  the  boat  during 
Uriah's  absences.  She  suddenly  wished  he  were 
in  jail  now,  right  this  minute.  If  he  had  been 
she  could  have  walked  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
Boulevard  instead  of  creeping  along  the  edge,  like 
a  scared  rabbit.  Of  course  she  would  have  an- 
swered that  night-bird  up  there  in  the  pine  tree, 
calling  weirdly  to  his  missing  mate.  But,  fear- 
ing if  she  did,  that  her  daddy  might  spring  out 
at  her,  she  was  very  quiet  until  she  reached  the 
northern  end  of  the  squatter  settlement.  Here 
she  gathered  courage.  If  she  met  her  father  and 
Reggie  Brown,  and  they  tried  to  take  her  away 
with  them,  she'd  raise  such  a  row  they'd  be  glad 
to  let  her  go. 

In  front  of  the  Salvation  Army  quarters  she 
paused  and  looked  longingly  at  it.  How  much 
she  desired  to  go  in  and  to  get  other  cards  like 
the  one  she  had  lost  that  day  in  the  depths  of 
Lake  Cayuga!  If  she  didn't  have  this  urgent  er- 


Dr.  John  Has  a  Visitor  67 

rand,  she'd  slide  in  the  side  door  and  sit  through 
the  meeting. 

Just  then  some  one  touched  her,  and  she  turned 
swiftly.  There  grinning  down  upon  her  was  her 
father,  and  his  hand  fell  in  a  heavy  grip  on  her 
arm.  Tonnibel  gasped  for  breath,  tried  to  jerk 
herself  away  and  swallowed  hard. 

"What  you  doin'  up  here,  miss?"  Devon  said 
grimly.  "You  come  along  home.  I'm  goin'  to 
settle  up  a  score  with  you,  you  damned  brat." 

Tonnibel  thought  quickly.  To  go  back  with 
him  meant  a  beating  for  her,  and  worse  than  that, 
suffering  for  her  beloved  mother. 

He  was  pulling  at  her  with  all  his  might  and 
main. 

"Wait,  daddy,"  she  quavered,  almost  under  her 
breath.  "Wait,  till  I  tell  you  something!" 

Uriah's  hand  loosened  its  hold  on  her.  He 
glanced  furtively  about,  but  no  one  was  paying 
any  attention  to  them. 

"Come  around  by  the  side  of  the  building  here," 
he  said  gruffly,  taking  hold  of  her  again,  "and 
yap  out  what  you  want  to  tell  me  quick.  I'm 
done  with  foolin'  with  you,  my  lady." 


68     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

A  little  L-shaped  addition  to  the  Army  rooms 
stood  back  from  the  road,  and  in  the  shadow  of 
this  Tonnibel  looked  up  at  her  father.  The  pun- 
gent breaths  that  came  rapidly  not  only  told  her 
he  was  drunk,  but  that  he  was  in  a  fearful  rage. 
Just  what  she  intended  to  tell  him,  she  didn't 
know  then,  but  it  had  to  be  something  to  help 
Edith.  In  tense  silence  she  glanced  at  the  open 
window  through  which  a  light  shone.  Straight 
across  the  meeting  hall  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  precious  words  which  that  day  had  given  her 
into  the  rescuing  arms  of  the  pine  tree.  "Stand 
still  and  see  the  Salvation—  This  was  as  far 

as  she  had  read  when  Uriah  gave  her  a  cuff  be- 
side the  ear. 

"Take  that,  you  sassy  huzzy,"  he  gritted. 
"Now  yap  out  what  you  got  to  say.  Then  come 
along  with  me.  This  time  I  gad  you  till  you 
mind." 

The  blow  almost  knocked  her  down,  but  she 
stood  up  as  bravely  as  she  could. 

"Salvation's  after 'you  with  both  feet,  Pop," 
she  gasped.  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  it  to-day. 
Your  lickin'  Ede  sent  it  plumb  out  of  my  mind." 


Dr.  John  Has  a  Visitor  69 

Uriah  staggered  back.  He  hadn't  understood, 
and  his  limp  figure  gave  Tonnibel  courage. 

"You'd  best  slide  in  the  church,"  she  ventured. 
"It'll " 

The  man  wheeled  and  took  a  hasty  survey  of 
the  street. 

"How'd  you  know  some  one's  after  me,  kid?" 
he  whined.  "Mebbe  they're  waitin'  back  there 
now  for  me." 

"Mebbe!"  was  all  Tonnibel  said. 

How  brave  she'd  grown  out  of  the  words  that 
had  suddenly  reduced  her  brutal  father  to  a  cring- 
ing suppliant!  Then  before  she  could  speak 
again,  she  saw  him  whirl  away,  and  she  lost  sight 
of  him  in  the  darkness.  For  a  few  moments  she 
stood  with  a  longing  tugging  at  her  heart.  She 
glanced  up  at  the  window,  and  a  vague  desire  to 
crawl  through  it  overwhelmed  her.  By  placing 
her  toes  against  the  clapboards  and  catching  hold 
of  the  window-sill,  she  raised  herself  gently  up, 
and  peeped  into  the  room.  If  she  had  dared  to 
thrust  her  arm  inside,  she  could  have  touched 
Philip  MacCauley.  He  was  sitting  alone  in  deep 


70     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

revery.  His  face  was  directly  opposite  hers,  and 
at  that  moment  he  looked  straight  at  her. 

"The  Salvation  of  the  Lord  got  lost  in  the 
lake,"  she  hissed  at  him,  and  then  she  dropped 
down  and  by  the  time  the  young  Captain  had 
crossed  the  mission  hall  and  was  out  of  doors,  the 
girl  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

That  evening,  just  after  dinner,  Dr.  John 
Pendlehaven  was  sitting  in  his  office,  his  mind  dis- 
turbed, his  heart  aching.  He  was  but  waiting  un- 
til his  business  hours  were  over  to  go  to  his  brother 
Paul,  who  for  two  or  three  days  past  had  been 
failing  rapidly.  It  seemed  to  him  that  never  in 
all  the  last  fifteen  years  had  he  so  thoroughly  hurt 
through  and  through  as  he  did  at  this  hour.  In  a 
way  he  blamed  himself  for  Reginald's  actions, 
for  hadn't  he  known  always  that  Sarah  upheld 
her  son  in  his  lax  conduct?  Hadn't  he  more  than 
once  wanted  to  interfere  and  take  a  firm  hold  of 
the  lad  from  a  man's  standpoint1? 

The  boy  was  a  thief,  a  petty  thief  too!  Not 
that  the  things  he  took  were  of  such  monetary 
value,  but  when  he  had  accused  Reginald  of  theft 
just  before  dinner,  the  lad  had  laughed  away  his 


Dr.  John  Has  a  Visitor  71 

crime  as  if  it  amounted  to  little.  His  heart  ached 
for  the  sick  brother  upstairs,  and  he  remembered 
that  the  first  three  or  four  years  after  the  disap- 
pearance of  Paul's  daughter  had  been  spent  in  a 
frantic  search.  A  small  fortune  had  been  spread 
from  Maine  to  California,  and  every  clew  present- 
ed had  been  followed  up.  All  those  working  on 
the  case  had  decided  that  Edith  Mindil,  a  young 
nurse  who  had  cared  for  the  child  most  of  the 
time  since  her  mother  had  died  and  was  devoted 
to  her,  had  left  home  with  the  baby. 

He  sat  up  suddenly,  for  distinctly  there  came 
to  him  from  the  wide  front  porch  the  patter  of 
feet  like  the  soft  footpads  of  some  stealthy  night- 
animal.  He  turned  his  eyes  on  the  open  door  that 
led  to  the  porch — and  then  he  rose.  There  be- 
fore him  stood  a  girl,  a  silent  girl  looking  at  him 
beseechingly — a  curious  demanding  expression  in 
her  eyes,  and  she  was  barefooted  too.  He  didn't 
speak,  nor  did  he  move  forward.  She  was  not  a 
patient,  that  he  knew,  for  only  the  rich  came  to 
him  for  treatment. 

She  was  still  studying  his  face  with  bright  gray 
eyes,  and  how  very  lovely  she  was.  In  spite  of 


72     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pints 

her  queer  attire,  she  seemed  to  the  astonished  man 
a  vision,  just  a  girlish  thought  which  perhaps  he 
had  drawn  out  of  his  misery.  Over  her  shoulders 
hung  a  mass  of  long  dark  curls,  and  he  could  see 
they  glistened,  shining  there  in  the  light,  like  so 
many  twisted  jewels. 

Then  suddenly  she  smiled  and  took  two  steps 
toward  him.  'Twas  the  smile  that  decided  him, 
she  was  human.  And,  "Good  evening,"  he  man- 
aged to  say. 

"Paul  Pendlehaven  *?"  came  in  a  breath,  and 
Dr.  John  shook  his  head. 

"Oh!  I  hoped  you  were!"  was  the  swift  reply. 
"I  want  to  see  the  doctor." 

The  voice  was  filled  with  touching  pathos,  and 
the  young  face  had  grown  suddenly  grave. 

"I'm  one  Dr.  Pendlehaven,"  he  said.  "Won't 
you  sit  down?" 

Tonnibel  shook  her  head.  She  couldn't  sit 
down  in  all  this  royal  splendor,  she  who  had  been 
used  to  canal  boats  and  rough  benches  to  sit  on. 

"I'm  kinda  mussed  up,"  she  said  in  excuse. 
"I've  come  to  make  a  dicker  with — with  Dr. 
Paul  Pendlehaven." 


Dr.  John  Has  a  Visitor  73 

Pendlehaven  stared  at  her.  What  a  queer  little 
girl  she  was,  and  yet  he  felt  a  swiftly-come  in- 
terest in  her. 

"Tell  me  what  you  want  of  my  brother1?"  he 
said  gently.  "Do  you  want  him  to  help  you?" 

"Yep,  a  hull  lot,"  she  responded,  "a  great  lot. 
My  mother's  awful  sick.  But  I  can't  tell  how  she 
got  that  way,  so  don't  ask  me.  But — but  1 
thought  mebbe  if  I  brought  Doctor  Paul's  baby 
back —  She  paused,  drew  out  of  her  blouse 

the  picture  and  handed  it  out,  "I  thought  if  I 
didn't  take  any  money  for  it,  he'd  help  me,  and 
mebbe  wouldn't  make  me  tell  where  I  got  it." 

John  Pendlehaven  made  no  move  to  touch  the 
little  card  she  was  holding  out  to  him,  and  Ton- 
nibel  came  nearer. 

"Don't  he  want  it*?"  she  queried  apprehensively, 
"huh1?  It  says  on  the  back  he'd  give  money  for 
it,  but  I  wouldn't  take  money.  If  mummy  hadn't 
been  awful  sick,  I'd  a  give  it  to  him  for  nothing." 

Then  her  fingers  let  go  their  hold  on  the  picture, 
and  it  fell  to  the  floor.  And  there  before  the 
startled  man's  eyes,  she  dropped  down  and  began 
to  sob,  long  bitter  sobs  such  as  John  Pendlehaven 


74     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pities 

had  never  heard  from  any  of  his  own  women  kind. 

"I  want  some  one  to  help  my  mummy  so  bad,'* 
came  to  him  from  among  the  curls. 

Then  he  shook  himself,  deep  sympathy  striking 
at  him. 

"Child,"  he  broke  out.  "Pretty  little  child, 
don't  cry." 

He  bent  over  her  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear;  you've  done  my  broth- 
er the  greatest  favor  in  the  world  by  bringing  back 
this  picture."  He  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  "He 
loved  it  dearly,  no  money  could  have  bought  it." 

Tonnibel's  eyes,  filled  with  tears,  gazed  up  at 
him,  and  the  red  lips  trembled. 

"I  don't  want  money,"  she  faltered.  "But  my 
poor  little  mummy's  sick.  So  I  said  to  myself  if 
the  picture  was  worth  cash,  then  mebbe  I  could  get 
some  medicine  as  a  change  off." 

"We'll  go  to  her  instantly,"  said  Pendlehaven. 
"Wait  until  I  get  my  hat  and  coat,  and  I'll  tell 
my  brother  you  brought  this  to  him." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  back,  finding  her  stand- 
ing where  he  had  left  her. 

Without  a  word  they  walked  out  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN    THE    NIGHT 

"Is  it  far  we've  got  to  go*?"  Dr.  John  asked 
some  minutes  later.  "It's  storming  a  little." 

"Quite  a  ways,"  replied  the  girl,  "but  never 
mind.  A  little  rain  won't  hurt  uther  one  of  us." 

As  they  passed  the  Salvation  Army  quarters 
the  girl  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  it.  But  she 
made  no  remark,  and  so  rapidly  did  she  walk  that 
Pendlehaven  found  himself  taking  long  strides 
to  keep  up  with  her. 

To  say  he  was  surprised  when  they  turned  from 
the  Boulevard  road  to  a  path  leading  to  the  west 
shore  of  the  lake  would  be  putting  it  lightly.  But 
he  didn't  ask  again  where  they  were  going;  some- 
how it  made  no  difference  to  him. 

"You'd  best  take  hold  of  my  hand,"  exclaimed 
Tony,  coming  to  a  full  stop.  "It's  awful  dark, 
and  after  a  while  we're  going  down  the  hill.  You 
ain't  afraid,  are  you,  mister*?" 

75 


76     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Not  with  you,"  replied  Pendlehaven.  Then 
whimsically  to  himself  he  repeated,  "And  a  little 
•Anld  shall  lead  them." 

On  and  on  they  went,  hand  in  hand,  through 
the  now  tailing  rain.  Out  beyond  them  Cayuga 
Lake,  like  a  huge  black  field,  received  the  drops 
of  water  on  its  quiet  upturned  face. 

On  each  side  of  the  path  rose  gigantic  trees, 
standing  sentinel-like  right  and  left. 

Pendlehaven's  strong  warm  hand  held  the  small 
brown  one,  and  something  in  the  touch  of  the 
girl's  fingers  made  him  thrill  writh  pleasure.  He 
found  himself  vowing  that  anything  this  strange 
child  should  ask  of  him,  he'd  do,  no  matter  what 
it  might  be.  And  wasn't  he  doing  an  unheard  of 
thing  this  very  minute?  Had  he  ever  before  in 
all  the  years  of  his  practice  gone  with  a  stranger 
without  one  of  his  men  with  him  or  being  carried 
in  his  own  carriage  or  car? 

Yet  he  was  glad  he  had  come  !  Glad  to  get  away 
from  his  office,  glad  to  be  in  the  dark  world  of 
rain  and  lake  and  forest  with  a  child  of  the  wil- 
derness!  They  passed  over  a  culvert  through 
;vhioh  water,  in  tumbling  roars,  took  its  way  down 


In  the  Night  77 

the  hill.     Just  on  the  north  side  the  girl  stopped, 

"Hang  to  me  tight,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"We're  goin'  down  a  awful  steep  place,  and  I 
don't  want  to  lose  you." 

A  sudden  desire  to  laugh  aloud  swept  over  Dr. 
Pendlehaven.  Again  the  words,  "A  little  child 
shall  lead  them,"  swam  across  his  mental  vis- 
ion. 

"I  won't  let  nothin'  hurt  you,  mister,"  Tony 
assured  him,  and  his  only  response  was  a  tighten- 
ing of  the  hand  he  held. 

"It's  kind  of  ragged  down  in  here,"  she  ex- 
plained presently.  "But  just  come  along.  Ghosts 
don't  roam  in  the  rain  like  this.  Somehow  they'd 
ruther  stay  buried  when  the  moon  ain't  out." 

She  said  it  simply,  naturally  as  if  she  believed 
every  word  of  it. 

"Here  we  are  to  the  ragged  rocks,"  she  said 
finally,  coming  to  a  sudden  stop.  "There's  the 
boat  where  my  mummy  is.  See  that  little  light  ? 
Stand  here  a  minute  till  I  come  back  and  get  you." 

It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  Tonnibel  that  per- 
haps her  father  might  have  ventured  home.  If 


78     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

so,  then  she  must  prepare  him  for  the  doctor's 
coming. 

She  slipped  away  through  the  darkness,  and 
Pendlehaven,  standing  under  the  black  sky,  heard 
her  patter  across  the  deck  of  the  boat,  and  through 
the  faint  little  light  that  shone  up  from  the  cabin, 
he  saw  her  disappear  down  the  steps. 

Tonnibel  went  immediately  to  her  mother  and 
looked  down  upon  her.  The  swollen  lids  were 
still  closed,  and  the  wan  white  face  brought  a  rush 
of  tears  to  the  girl's  eyes. 

"I've  brung  some  one  to  help  you,  darlin'," 
she  whispered,  but  the  woman  made  no  move,  if 
by  chance  she  heard. 

Tonnibel  glanced  about  the  cabin.  There, 
spread  out  on  the  table,  were  the  clothes  she  knew 
belonged  to  the  household  of  the  man  standing 
waiting  on  the  ragged  rocks.  Uriah  had  been 
mixed  up  in  the  theft,  and  perhaps  her  darling  on 
the  bed  there.  But  of  one  thing  she  was  certain. 
If  Edith  had  ever  stolen,  then  daddy  had  made 
her  do  it. 

Hastily  gathering  the  suits  up,  she  dumped 
them  into  the  little  back  room  and  closed  the 


In  the  Night  79 

door.  Then  clambering  up  the  steps,  she  was 
back  at  the  doctor's  side  before  he  scarcely  real- 
ized it. 

"Mummy's  alone,"  she  said.     "Come  on." 

Pendlehaven  stooped  over  Edith  Devon,  gently 
taking  her  wrist  in  his  fingers.  For  some  time  he 
sat  beside  her,  then  mixing  a  draught,  succeeded 
in  pouring  it  down  her  throat.  The  weary  lids 
didn't  lift,  but  one  thin  arm  came  rigidly  upward 
then  fell  back  limply. 

"She's  going  to  be  all  right  in  a  little  while," 
whispered  the  medical  man,  looking  at  the  silent, 
wide-eyed  girl.  Tonnibel's  lips  trembled,  and 
she  tried  to  smile. 

"Some  one  struck  her,  eh*?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"Yep,"  replied  the  girl,  and  that  was  all. 

Pendlehaven  didn't  ask  anything  more.  In 
accepting  the  picture  he  had  tacitly  promised  not 
to  question  her.  What  did  it  matter  to  him  how 
the  woman  had  come  into  her  present  condition? 
He  would  do  his  utmost,  his  very  best  for  the  sake 
of  the  trembling  child  who  had  brought  back  the 
baby's  picture  which  might  bring  a  new  desire  to 
live  in  his  brother,  Paul. 


80     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Come  outside,"  he  said  at  length,  rising.  "I 
want  to  talk  to  you.  She'll  sleep  a  long  time, 
perhaps  until  morning." 

"She'll  get  well,  huh?"  demanded  Tonnibel,  in 
a  whisper. 

"Surely,"  he  responded.  "Of  course.  She's 
very  tired,  I  think." 

"Oh,  she's  tired  all  right,"  was  the  choking 
reply.  "Her  life's  been  full  of  tiredness.  Poor 
little  mummy,  poor  little  pretty  mummy!" 

For  the  life  of  him,  John  Pendlehaven  could 
not  have  uttered  a  word  as  he  watched  the  tears 
roll  down  the  girl's  cheeks.  Then: 

"Who  hurt  her*?"  he  said,  sharply,  forgetting 
his  resolve  not  to  ask  questions. 

Tonnibel  hesitated  and  remembered  her  wicked 
father,  Edith's  mad  affection  for  him  and  shook 
her  head. 

"Lovin's  hurt  *er,"  she  replied  simply,  "just 
lovin's,  mister.  When  a  woman  loves  like  she 
does," — she  made  a  gesture  with  her  hand  toward 
the  bunk — "she  always  gets  hurt." 

Pendlehaven  took  in  a  deep  breath.  Such  a 
hard  lesson  for  one  so  young  to  have  learned !  He 


In  the  Night  81 

turned  abruptly  and  walked  up  the  steps,  his  heart 
gripped  with  the  profoundest  sympathy  he  had 
ever  known. 

Standing  in  the  rain  outside,  looking  down 
upon  the  expectant  upturned  face,  he  said  bro- 
kenly : 

"I  can't  leave  you  alone  with  her,  dear  child. 
I  think  I'll  stay." 

The  thought  of  her  father  coming  home  drunk 
flashed  across  the  girl's  mind  again. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  stay  if  she's  all  right," 
she  said  with  a  backward  bend  of  her  head.  "You 
said  she'd  get  well,  didn't  you1?"  At  the  doctor's 
affirmative  nod  she  went  on — "Then  I'll  take  you 
back  up  the  hill,  so  you'll  be  safe." 

"No,"  said  Pendlehaven,  firmly.  "No,  I  won't 
let  you.  I  can  find  my  way  all  right,  but  I  can't 
leave  you  like  this." 

"Mummy  and  me's  been  alone  lots  of  times, 
days  and  nights,  for  weeks,"  she  answered.  "I'm 
never  afraid  where  there's  trees  to  talk  to  you, 
— and  little  birds  sleepin'  in  'em."  She  made  a 
sweep  with  her  hand  toward  the  forest,  "And  the 


82     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

lake's  here  too.  You  can't  never  be  alone  in  a 
place  like  this." 

"Then  I'll  go,"  said  Dr.  John,  almost  rough- 
ly. His  nerves  were  keyed  to  a  breaking  point. 

Tonnibel  extended  her  hand. 

"I  said  I  was  going  with  you,  she  answered 
crisply.  "I  know  every  inch  of  the  woods,  an' 
you'd  be  stumblin'  round  till  morning.  I  just 
want  to  thank  you  for  helpin'  my  mother.  Come 
on,  it'll  be  all  hours  before  you  get  home  now." 

Back  over  the  ragged  rocks  they  went,  and  as 
they  climbed  the  hill,  Pendlehaven  suddenly  real- 
ized that  she  was  crying. 

He  stopped  short  in  the  path. 

"I  refuse  to  go  home,"  he  said  sharply.  "God, 
child,  but  I've  got  a  heart  in  my  body." 

She  didn't  answer  him  but  tugged  at  his  hand, 
drawing  him  onward.  After  a  few  moments  she 
broke  out: 

"I  ain't  sayin'  I  wouldn't  love  to  have  you  in 
the  'Dirty  Mary'  with  mummy  and  me,  but  you 
might  get  killed  if  you  stay." 

"And  what  about  you1?"  demanded  Pendle- 
haven. 


In  the  Night  83 

"Oh,  I'm  used  to  it,"  she  responded.  "Some- 
body might  give  me  a  swat  or  two  on  my  bean,  but 
that  won't  count  for  nothin' !" 

When  they  reached  the  Boulevard,  he  dropped 
her  hand. 

"Now  go  back,"  he  said  gently,  "I  can  find  my 
way.  Will  you  come  to-morrow  at  two,  and  let 
me  know  how  she  is*?  Or  shall  I  come  down1?" 

"I'll  hike  to  you,"  answered  Tonnibel.  "If 
you're  sure  now  you  won't  get  lost,  I'll  run  back 
to  mummy.  "But " 

"I  shall  get  home  perfectly  safe,  child,"  came  in 
quick  interruption,  and  "Good-night.  Thank  you 
for  bringing  me  the  picture  and  allowing  me  to 
come  to  your  mother." 

Tonnibel  turned  swiftly;  and  in  another  minute 
he  heard  her  running  away,  and  mingling  with 
the  breaking  of  twigs,  he  heard  a  sound  of  violent 
weeping.  For  an  instant  he  felt  impelled  to  run 
after  her.  Then,  sighing,  he  turned  his  collar  up 
more  closely  about  his  neck  and  walked  on  toward 
Ithaca, 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"TONY"  SWEARS  AN  OATH 

WHEN  Tonnibel  bent  over  the  bunk,  she  saw 
her  mother's  eyes  were  open.  She  smiled  sadly 
down  upon  her,  sat  on  a  stool  and  took  one  of  the 
woman's  thin  hands  in  hers. 

"Where's  your  daddy?"  murmured  Mrs. 
Devon. 

"He's  gone,  mummy  dear,"  breathed  Tony.  "I 
guess  he  thought  some  one  was  after  him.  He'll 
stay  away  a  while,  I  guess,  mebbe  till  you  get 
all  well." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"Gettin5  near  the  middle  of  the  night!  And 
you're  feelin'  a  lot  better,  huh,  honey1?" 

"Yep,  but  I'm  thirsty,  awful  thirsty,  baby 
dear." 

Tonnibel  gave  her  a  drink,  and  reseated  herself. 

"You're  goin'  to  get  well,"  she  ejaculated.  "I 
84 


"Tony"  Stvears  An  Oath  85 

brought  a  awful  nice  doctor  here  when  you  were 
so  sick.  He's  just  gone,  and  he  left  you  them 
pills  and  that  medicine  in  the  glass." 

The  woman  stared  at  the  speaker  as  if  she 
hadn't  heard  rightly. 

"A  doctor?"  she  whined.     "What  doctor?" 

"Dr.  Pendlehaven,"  replied  Tonnibel.  "He's 
a  real  nice  man — John  Pendlehaven." 

Edith  struggled  up  on  her  elbow. 

"What'd  you  bring  him  here  for?"  she  cried. 
"I  hate  the  Pendlehavens.  Uriah  hates  'em " 

"I  know  that,  mummy,"  Tony  cut  her  off  with, 
"but  you  was  too  sick  to  tell  me  what  to  do,  and 
daddy  wasn't  here,  so  I  just  went  and  got  the 
doctor  myself.  .  .  .  Here !  You  mustn't  sit  up." 

"I  will !  I  will !  Now  tell  me  all  he  said  from 
the  beginning  to  end." 

In  silence  Tonnibel  helped  her  mother  to  a  sit- 
ting position  and  wrapped  the  blankets  around 
her.  Then  she  began  to  tell  her  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  only  thing  she  omitted  speaking  of 
was  the  baby's  picture. 

"He  were  the  only  doctor  I  knew  about,"  she 
offered  finally,  flushing,  "and  he's  the  beautiful- 


86     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

est  man  I  ever  saw.  Mebbe  he'll  come  down  to- 
morrow to  see  you." 

Edith  dropped  back  on  the  bed,  shivering  in 
desperation. 

"Get  your  clothes  off,  baby,"  she  whispered. 
"Crawl  in  beside  me.  You're  all  wet." 

"Take  your  medicine  first,  then  I  will,"  said 

Tonnibel.  "Here She  picked  up  the  glass 

and  then  stood  staring  at  the  place  she'd  taken  it 
from.  "Why  the  doctor  must  have  left  this  mon- 
ey," she  exclaimed,  taking  up  a  roll  of  bills. 
"Look,  Edie,  look!" 

"Get  off  your  clothes,"  repeated  the  woman, 
impassively.  "Come  on  to  bed,  and  go  to  sleep." 

In  another  moment  the  girl  had  stripped  off  her 
wet  clothes,  had  blown  out  the  light  and  was 
in  bed  beside  her  mother.  Edith  drew  her  gently 
into  her  arms. 

"Tony,"  she  muttered  after  a  long  silence, 
"make  your  mummy  a  promise,  will  you?" 

"Yep,"  breathed  Tonnibel,  sleepily.     "What?" 

"Never  tell  any  one  in  the  world  about  Uriah's 
cussedness.  Could  you  remember  to  keep  your 
,mouth  shut  when  folks  asks  questions'?" 


"Tony"  Swears  'An  Oath  87 

"Cross  my  heart,  hope  to  drop  down  dead  in  a 
fit  if  I  tell,"  murmured  Tonnibel. 

When  Edith  was  assured  the  girl  slept,  she 
crawled  out  of  the  bed  and  lighted  the  lamp.  Her 
head  was  so  dizzy  the  objects  in  the  cabin  spun 
around  as  if  she  had  been  drinking.  She  tried  to 
collect  her  thoughts,  to  lay  a  plan  for  the  future 
for  herself  and  husband.  John  Pendlehaven  had 
been  there!  Pendlehaven,  the  one  name  in  the 
world  she  dreaded  the  mention  of !  And  Tony  had 
said  he  would  come  back  to-morrow ! 

She  turned  and  looked  at  the  sleeping  face, 
half-hidden  in  the  blankets.  She  had  stolen  this 
child  from  her  father,  and  now  she  had  to  escape 
the  consequences  of  her  wicked  deed.  She  had 
to  go  away  and  that  quickly.  If  she  had  dared 
to  face  her  husband's  wrath,  she  would  have,  then 
and  there,  communicated  with  Paul  Pendlehaven. 

She  reached  out  and  touched  Tonnibel's  face. 

"Baby,  darlin',  wake  up,"  she  said.  "I  want 
to  ask  you  something!" 

Tony  opened  her  slumber-laden  eyes  and 
smiled. 

"Don't  go  to  sleep  again,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  De- 


88     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

von,  hoarsely.  "Tell  me  this.  Do  you  honest  be- 
lieve what  you  said  about  that  thing  on  the  card*? 
About  it  bein'  holy*?" 

"Yep,"  assented  Tony,  with  drooping  eyelids. 

"I  guess  you'd  rather  snooze  a  bit  than  help 
your  mummy,"  mourned  the  woman,  drearily. 

These  words  sent  the  desire  to  sleep  directly 
from  the  girl's  brain. 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  she  responded  with  a  quick 
motion.  "What  I  said  was  true!  A  beautiful 
man  told  me  'twas.  He  says  the  Salvation 
Army's  found  a  God  for  poor  folks,  for  folks  liv- 
in'  in  canal  boats  and  squatters  too.  Why,  mum- 
my love,  when  I  went  scootin'  after  the  doctor.  I 
said  over  and  over  to  Salvation  to  come  slamming 
in  this  boat  and  pull  you  right  off  that  bunk. 
And  it  done  it,  huh?" 

"Mebbe,"  was  the  dubious  reply.  "But  I  was 
thinkin'  this.  You  don't  want  to  hurt  Uriah  and 
me,  do  you,  honey?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  a  doubtful 
shadow  settling  in  her  eyes,  seemed  to  make  her 
wider  awake. 

"I  wouldn't  hurt  you,  darlin',"  she  replied  at 


"Tony"  Swears  'An  Oath  89 

length,  "but  sometimes,  when  daddy's  beatin' 
you,  I  feel  like  whackin'  the  life  out  of  him.  Why, 
to-day " 

Edith  stopped  her  by  a  tug  at  her  sleeve. 

"If  you  swore  by  that  card  you  brought,  I  mean 
if  you  took  an  oath,  would  you  keep  it*?"  she 
asked  hoarsely. 

"You  bet  I  would."  There  was  amazement, 
surprise  and  eagerness  in  the  young  voice. 

"Then  get  it,"  came  the  husky  command. 

Tonnibel  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't,"  she  replied,  "I  lost  it." 

"Never  mind  then !  Didn't  you  tell  me  the 
feller  said  Jesus  was  a  holy  bird*?" 

Tony  nodded. 

Mrs.  Devon  gripped  her  fingers  about  the  girl's 
arm. 

"Hold  a  minute,"  she  interrupted.  "You  be- 
lieve, honest  you  believe,  Tonnibel,  this  Jesus  is 
a  livin'  somewheres,  don't  you1?  Didn't  you  say 
that?' 

"Sure,"  yawned  Tonnibel. 

"Mebbe  He's  in  the  'Dirty  Mary'  here,  only 
you  can't  see  Him,  baby  dear*?"  The  woman's 


90     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

voice  was  slyly  toned,  but  she  shivered  in  super- 
stition. 

"He's  right  here,"  affirmed  the  girl,  thinking 
of  a  boy's  earnest  uplifted  face  and  vibrant  assur- 
ances. 

"Then  say  after  me  what  I'm  thinkin'  of,"  said 
Edith. 

Tony  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  mother's,  but  drew 
back  when  she  discovered  how  terrible  she  looked, 
white  like  a  dead  person. 

"I  swear  by  the  livin'  Jesus,"  began  Edith,  and 
then  she  paused.  "Say  it,"  she  hissed. 

"I  swear  by  the  livin'  Jesus,"  Tony  repeated 
fearfully. 

"I  swear  to  my  mummy  never  to  say  nothin' 
mean  against  Uriah  Devon,  my  daddy,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Devon. 

Tony  repeated  this,  too,  almost  frightened  into 
fits.  She  had  never  seen  her  mother  look  and  act 
so  mysteriously. 

"Now  say  this,  keepin'  in  your  mind  you'll  be 
blasted  to  hell  if  you  break  your  word,  T  won't 
never  tell  that  my  father  beat  my  poor  mummy, 
or  that  he's  a  thief  and  a  liar1 "  A  thick  tear- 


"Tony"  Swears  'An  Oath  91 

less  sob  burst  from  the  woman's  lips  and  brought 
an  ejaculation  from  the  girl. 

"I  swear  to  it  all,  honey  mummy,"  she  cried. 
"You  believe  me,  Edie,  darlin',  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  you,"  replied  Edith,  dully. 
"Crawl  into  bed,  and  go  to  sleep,  baby  dear." 

Shiveringly  Tony  Devon  got  back  under  the 
blanket.  "Comin'  in  too,  darlin"?"  she  queried. 

"Mebbe,  after  a  while,"  replied  Mrs.  Devon. 
"I'll  wait  a  bit.  Perhaps,  your  daddy'll  come." 

Then  for  more  than  an  hour  there  was  silence 
on  the  canal  boat,  silence  that  was  broken  only 
by  the  night  noises  outside. 

Then,  extremely  weak,  the  woman  prepared 
herself  to  go  out.  During  the  slowness  of  her 
movements,  she  brought  out  of  her  distracted 
memories  of  other  days,  John  Pendlehaven's 
stern,  haughty  face  and  his  devotion  to  his  broth- 
er, Paul,  and  in  remembering,  she  shuddered  and 
had  to  sit  down  before  going  on  with  her  prepara- 
tions for  departure.  It  took  her  a  long  time  to 
write  a  note  she  had  to  leave  for  Tony,  and  when 
that  was  finished,  she  divided  the  money  the  doc- 
tor had  left  and  stole  softly  from  the  boat. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"ALL  ALONE!" 

IT  was  In  the  full  blaze  of  a  morning  sun  that 
Tonnibel  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  around  the 
cabin.  For  some  time  she  lay  drowsily  bringing 
out  of  yesterday  her  father,  her  mother,  and 
the  young  man  who  kicked  his  heels  together. 
When  all  the  events  of  the  gruesome  afternoon 
and  evening  had  been  sorted  over,  she  got  hastily 
out  of  bed.  The  other  bunk  was  empty,  and  her 
mother  was  not  in  the  cabin.  In  her  night  clothes, 
Tonnibel  went  to  the  deck,  shouting  the  name, 
"Edith,"  her  strong  young  voice  repeating  itselt 
back  from  the  woods  in  echoes.  Then  she  went 
downstairs  again  and  began  to  dress  hastily,  and 
every  moment  her  fear  was  growing.  She  soon 
discovered  her  mother's  clothes  were  gone  also 
her  heavy  shoes  which  had  been  under  the  bunk. 
Then  she  spied  the  note  pinned  to  the  lamp  han- 
dle. She  stared  at  it  mutely  as  if  dreading  to 

92 


'All  Alont!"  93 


know  its  contents,  but  she  unpinned  it  with  fingers 
that  seemed  to  be  all  thumbs.  Her  legs  were 
shaking  so  she  had  to  sit  down  to  read  it. 


"Tony  dear:"  it  began. 

"I'm  going  to  look  up  Uriah.  I  took  part  of 
the  money.  We  might  need  some.  You  can  go 
to  work  somewheres  if  I  don't  come  back.  Maybe 
some  day  you'll  see  me.  Leave  the  boat  where 
she  is  so  your  daddy  can  find  her.  I  love  you, 
darling.  Remember  about  your  swearing  not  to 
tell  on  your  Pop,  and  don't  tell  I'm  gone  to  find 

him. 

"MuMMY." 

Tonnibel  gave  a  gasping  sob.  They  had  all 
gone  and  left  her  stranded  in  a  land  of  strangers. 
Because  it  was  no  longer  her  home,  she  began  to 
love  the  silent  old  canal  boat,  and  to  wish  with 
all  her  soul  that  Uriah  and  Edith  would  come 
walking  down  the  cabin  steps.  Mechanically  she 
began  to  prepare  herself  some  breakfast,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  many  moons,  she  sat  down  with 
Gussie  at  her  side  to  eat  the  butterless  bread  and 
drink  the  unsweetened  coffee. 


94     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

After  she  had  finished,  she  went  out  on  deck 
and  sat  down  with  the  piglet  in  her  arms. 

"There  ain't  nobody  left  but  you  and  me, 
honey,"  she  whispered,  "but  I'm  glad  I  got  you 
anyway." 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  thinking,  looking  out 
over  the  water,  sometimes  with  tears  flooding  her 
lids,  sometimes  dry-eyed  with  fright.  After  a 
while  she  got  up,  took  Gussie  to  the  lake,  where, 
much  to  the  little  animal's  disgust,  she  washed 
her  with  a  scrubbing  brush  and  soap.  Her  heart 
ached  for  the  little  creature  as  much  as  it  did 
for  herself,  and  Gussie's  little  squeals  met  answer- 
ing sobs  from  the  lonely,  homesick  girl. 

"It's  hard  luck,  darlin',"  she  murmured,  pick- 
ing up  the  pig  and  kissing  it.  "But  you  got  to 
go  writh  me  to  the  beautiful  doctor's  house,  and 
you  can't  go  with  a  dirty  face.  I  wouldn't  leave 
you  here  alone  for  all  the  boodle  in  Ithaca." 

Then  she  carefully  washed  herself,  letting  her 
feet  and  legs  hang  over  the  end  of  the  dock  until 
they,  too,  were  as  clean  as  her  little  friend. 

It  was  while  she  was  sitting  there  with  the  pig 
in  her  arms  that  a  canoe  slipped  under  the  over- 


"All  Alone!"  95 

hanging  trees  and  came  toward  the  canal  boat 
swiftly.  She  watched  it  coming  with  no  show  of 
interest.  Directly  in  front  of  her  the  paddle  re- 
mained suspended,  and  the  boat  came  to  a  stop. 
Tonnibel's  heart  thumped,  then  seemed  to  fall 
to  the  pit  of  her  stomach.  Here,  right  before  her, 
was  the  Salvation  man. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  said,  smiling  at  her.  "I 
see  you're  having  a  nice  time." 

Tonnibel  shook  her  head. 

"No,  I  ain't,  and  Gussie  ain't  either,"  she  re- 
plied almost  sullenly.  "I'm  only  gettin'  all 
shinied  up.  The  piglet's  as  clean  as  a  whistle,  the 
same  as  me." 

By  a  skillful  twist  of  the  paddle,  Philip  Mac- 
Cauley  drew  the  canoe  close  to  the  dock. 

"He's  prettier  than  he  was  night  before  last," 
he  said  lamely. 

He  had  come  from  Ithaca  purposely  to  find  this 
girl,  as  he  had  yesterday,  but  now  he  was  in  her 
presence,  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

"He's  a  she,"  Tony  told  him  with  no  hint  of  a 
smile.  "Gussie's  her  name.  Yep,  she's  beauti- 
ful." 


9G     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Is  this  the  boat  you  told  me  you  lived  on4?"  he 
asked,  climbing  up  beside  her  and  holding  the  ca- 
noe fast  by  a  rope. 

"Yes,  the  'Dirty  Mary,'  "  answered  Tonnibel, 
with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "Now  I  live  on 
her,  I  mean  to-day." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'now  you  live  on 
her?'  "  he  asked.  "Isn't  this  your  home?  Didn't 
you  tell  me  that?" 

The  girl's  dark  head  drooped,  and  the  shower 
of  curls  almost  covered  Gussie  to  her  short  hind 
legs.  Tears  dropped  silently,  and,  for  a  moment, 
Philip  was  too  embarrassed  to  .speak. 

"Don't  do  that,"  he  burst  out,  when  he  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  "I  can't  bear  to  see  a  girl 
cry." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  sobbed  Tonnibel.  "I  guess 
I'm  just  lonely,  that's  all." 

Philip  touched  her  gently. 

"Where's  your  mother?"  he  questioned. 

She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him  through 
her  tears.  She  wanted  to  confide  in  some  one— 
yes,  she  did  want  to  tell  him,  but  the  onth  ?h"'d 
taken  on  the  gentle  Christ  flashed  into  her  mind. 


"All  Alone!"  97 

"She  ain't  home  just  at  present,"  she  replied 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Can't  you  tell  me  why  you're  crying?"  urged 
Philip. 

"Nope,  can't  tell  anybody,"  came  back  the 
sobbing  murmur.  "But  I'm  awful  glad  you 
stopped  here.  Gussie  and  me  was  awful  lone- 
some." 

Oh,  how  she  wanted  to  ask  him  if  he  knew  of 
any  work  she  could  do ! 

As  if  he  had  read  her  thoughts,  he  asked  ab- 
ruptly, "Can  I  do  anything  for  you'?  Why  didn't 
you  come  in  last  evening?  I  went  out  to  find 
you !  I  brought  you  this." 

She  made  a  slight  movement  with  her  head  but 
accepted  the  card  he  extended. 

"I  had  something  to  do  yesterday  night,  so  I 
couldn't  stop,"  she  answered,  blushing.  "Meb- 
be  I  will  come  some  day.  I'd  like  to." 

Then  there  drifted  over  the  quiet  summer  day 
the  tolling  of  the  chimes  from  the  University 
clock  on  the  Campus  of  Cornell.  She  bent  for- 
ward to  listen.  It  struck  one,  and  drawing  her 
feet  from  the  water,  she  got  up.  She  had  prom- 


98     The  Shauotv  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

ised  to  be  at  Pendlehaven  Place  at  two  o'clock. 

"I  got  to  go  now,"  she  said  apologetically. 
"Much  obliged  for  bringing  me  some  more  salva- 
tion, mister!  Mebbe  I'll  see  you  again  some- 
time. Mebbe  I  will." 

"When?"  demanded  Philip,  the  blood  running 
swiftly  to  his  face.  He  felt  a  sudden  renewed 
interest  in  the  solemn  little  girl,  and  he  didn't 
want  her  to  leave  him  at  all. 

"I  dunno,"  she  answered,  putting  Gussie  under 
one  arm.  "I  mightn't  be  home  when  you  come." 

"But  say  some  time !  What  about  to-morrow"? 
Say  four  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon.  To-mor- 
row's Sunday.  Will  you  be  here  then1?" 

How  did  she  know  where  she'd  be  to-morrow? 
How  could  she  see  across  the  span  of  hours  that 
lay  between  her  and  the  dawning  of  another  day? 
Perhaps,  Edith  would  bring  Uriah  home  to  the 
boat  before  then;  perhaps  she  wouldn't  have  to 
go  away  to  find  work  after  all. 

"Can  I  come  to-morrow?"  the  boy  urged  once 
more. 

"Yep,  you  can  come,"  said  Tonnibel,  with  fill- 


"All  Alone!"  99 

ing  throat,  "but  if  there's  any  one  around,  don't 
stop." 

This  was  all  the  warning  she  dared  give  him. 
Then  she  paused  long  enough  to  see  him  jump 
into  the  canoe,  and  for  a  few  minutes  she  stood 
watching  the  craft  as  it  danced  away  on  the  wa- 
ter toward  Ithaca. 


CHAPTER  X 

TONY    FINDS    A    NEW    HOME 

MANY  a  person  turned  in  the  street  and  looked 
at  the  bareheaded  and  barefooted  girl  as  she 
made  her  way  through  the  city  with  a  little  pig 
snuggled  in  her  arms.  Tonnibel  was  hurrying  to 
Pendlehaven  Place,  for  she  had  promised  Dr. 
John  she'd  come  to  his  office  at  two  o'clock  that 
afternoon,  and,  if  she  didn't,  he  might  take  it  into 
his  head  to  visit  the  "Dirty  Mary." 

When  she  reached  the  house,  it  neyer  occurred 
to  her  to  ring  the  bell,  or  to  ask  if  she  might  see 
the  doctor.  He  had  told  her  to  come,  and,  as  the 
night  before  she  had  crept  in  without  being  an- 
nounced, so  now  she  tiptoed  across  the  stone  porch 
and  stepped  into  his  office.  There  was  no  one 
there  when  she  entered;  so  she  stood  holding  Gus- 
sie  tightly,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe.  But  be- 
yond in  the  other  room  she  heard  the  sound  of 
voices.  The  deep  tones  of  the  doctor  came  dis- 

IOO 


Tony  Finds  a  New  Home  101 

tinctly  to  her.  She  had  not  moved  from  the  door 
when  John  Pendlehaven  came  in  and  saw  her. 
Instantly  he  noted  how  pale  she  was. 

"Your  mother,"  he  began 

"She's  gone  away  visitin',"  gasped  Tony.  "I 
don't  know  where  she  is." 

Her  embarrassed  manner  indicated  she  was 
keeping  something  from  him.  Going  nearer  her, 
he  asked: 

"Didn't  you  see  her  this  morning'?  If  she  was 
able  to  get  up,  then  she's  better.  Isn't  she*?  Is 
she?" 

Tonnibel  bobbed  her  head. 

"I  guess  so,"  she  mumbled.  "When  I  woke 

up,  she  was  gone.  I  guess  she  went  to  find " 

She  hesitated,  then  ran  on,  "to  see  some  one  we 
know.  So  me  and  Gussie  come  to  tell  you  she's 
better." 

"Sit  down,"  urged  the  doctor.  "To-day  you're 
not  a  bit  mussed  up,"  and  he  smiled. 

Again  the  curly  head  shook  negatively. 

"I  got  to  go,"  she  told  him,  swallowing  hard. 
"I  just  got  to  go." 

Then  as  her  homelessness  pressed  down  upon 


102     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

her,  she  began  to  tremble,  convulsive  sobs  shak- 
ing her  from  head  to  foot.  The  doctor  forced 
her  into  a  chair. 

"There,"  he  said  sympathetically.  "Now  tell 
me  what  has  happened." 

"I  can't,"  came  in  a  gasping  sigh.  "But  mum- 
my's gone  away,  mebbe  forever,  and  I  got  to  find 
work.  And — and  I  don't  know  how." 

The  small  worn  face  worked  painfully  as  the 
words  came  in  stammers,  and  Tony  lifted  tear- 
brimmed  eyes  to  his. 

"Work?"  repeated  Dr.  Pendlehaven.  "What 
kind  of  work  can  you  do,  child?" 

"I  can  fish,  but  I  hate  it,"  responded  Tonnibel, 
"and  I  can  slam  water  on  a  floor  too.  Mummy 
says  my  coffee  tastes  like  dishwater,  so  I  guess  I 
can't  cook  much.  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
ever  goin'  to  do.  Nobody' d  have  a  brat  like  me." 

Dr.  Pendlehaven  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 
All  through  the  night  the  wan  face  had  haunted 
him. 

Suddenly  Tonnibel  put  her  hand  into  her 
blouse. 

"I  brought  back  what's  left  of  the  money,"  she 


Tony  Finds  a  New  Home          103 

said,  holding  it  out.  "Mummy  took  some.  You 
don't  care  about  that,  do  you?  She  needed  it 
awful,  mummy  did!  But  I  couldn't  keep  this  be- 
cause I  dickered  with  you  last  night  about  the 
picture,  and  you  done  your  share.  First  I  wasn't 
goin'  to  say  anything  about  it;  then  I  says  to 
myself,  says  I,  Tt'd  be  the  same  as  stealin',  and 
he  were  a  good  man  to  make  my  mummy  all 
well/  " 

"Keep  it,"  exclaimed  Dr.  John,  huskily. 

"No,"  said  Tonnibel.  "I  couldn't  ever  sleep 
a  wink  if  I  did."  And  she  thrust  the  roll  of  bills 
into  his  hand,  giving  a  long  sigh  as  if  she  were 
glad  to  be  rid  of  it. 

It  might  have  been  this  action  on  her  part  that 
brought  to  quick  fruition  the  resolve  that  had  be- 
gun to  live  the  night  before  when  Dr.  Pendle- 
haven  had  tramped  along  the  Boulevard  to 
Ithaca.  From  what  she  had  told  him  now,  she 
had  been  left  alone.  Then  there  was  no  one  to 
ask  permission  of  to  help  her. 

"Where's  your  father?"  he  said  abruptly. 

"I  dunno,"  answered  Tonnibel,  a  little  sulkily. 


104     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

She  didn't  intend  ever  to  speak  of  Uriah  to  any 
one. 

"Then  you  are  all  alone,  now  that  your 
mother's  gone?  Do  I  understand  you  haven't  any 
relatives'?" 

"Not  anybody,"  she  hesitated,  "at  least,  not 
now.  Not  anybody  but  Gussie-Piglet  here." 

She  touched  the  little  animal  with  exquisite 
tenderness.  Dr.  Pendlehaven  leaned  over  and 
placing  one  finger  under  the  girl's  chin  raised  her 
face  to  his. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said  softly. 

Tonnibel  followed  him  through  what  seemed 
to  her  long  miles  of  halls.  When  he  ushered  her 
into  a  room  and  closed  the  door,  she  stood  a 
moment  taking  in  all  its  magnificence.  The  at- 
mosphere was  laden  with  a  heavy  perfume  of 
flowers,  and  then  she  saw  something  else.  A  man 
lay  partly  propped  up  in  bed,  his  burning  gray 
eyes  staring  at  her.  As  ever  in  her  life  when  help- 
lessness appeared  before  her,  Tony  forgot  her  own 
troubles,  and  a  radiant  smile  came  to  her  face 
and  stayed  there. 

"This  is  my  brother,   Paul   Pendlehaven,   my 


Tony  Finds  a  New  Home  105 

child,"  said  Dr.  John.  ''He  wants  to  thank  you 
for  bringing  back  the  picture." 

Tonnibel  went  directly  forward,  put  Gussie 
down  on  the  bed,  and  clasped  the  extended  hand 
in  hers. 

"Oh,  you're  sick,  huh?"  she  queried.  "I'll 
leave  Gussie  with  you  a  while,  if  you  want  to 
play  with  her." 

She  made  the  offer  genuinely,  her  voice  filled 
with  loving-kindness.  Both  men  realized  she  was 
giving  her  all. 

"Sit  down  a  while,"  murmured  Dr.  Paul. 

She  squatted  unceremoniously  upon  the  bed 
beside  the  pig. 

"Our  little  friend  here  is  in  trouble,"  said  Dr. 
John  to  his  brother,  "and  wants  work.  I'll  come 
back  after  three."  Then  he  went  out. 

For  a  long  time  Paul  Pendlehaven  looked  at 
Tony,  and  Tony  looked  back  at  him.  Tony  was 
mentally  pitying  him  with  all  her  loving  heart. 
He  was  thinking  over  the  conversation  he  and  his 
brother  had  had  about  this  strange  little  girl  who 
had  brought  from  a  thief's  den  the  picture  of  his 
baby. 


106     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"How  would  you  like  to  stay  here  a  while 
with  me'?"  he  asked  at  length. 

Gray  eyes  widened  to  the  fullest  extent  of 
fringed  lids. 

"Lordy,"  was  all  Tonnibel  could  say,  as  she 
glanced  around. 

"You  might  wait  on  me,"  explained  the  doctor, 
"and  keep  me  company.  I  do  get  lonely  some- 
times. Would  you  like  that*?  I  want  you  very 
much." 

"I'd  eat  my  head  off,  sir,"  Tonnibel  cut  in  with 
a  shake  of  her  curls,  "and  Gussie  eats  a  lot  too. 
I  couldn't  do  enough  to  earn  my  salt." 

"But  I  think  you  could,"  insisted  the  doctor, 
smiling.  "Now  listen  to  me.  I  know  you  like 
flowers." 

"I  love  'em,"  cried  Tonnibel. 

Pendlehaven  smiled  into  the  shining  eyes.  He 
felt  better  already. 

"I've  such  a  lot  of  them  all  over  this  wing," 
he  went  on.  "You  might  take  care  of  them  for 
me  and — and  other  things." 

Tony  was  almost  bursting  with  joy.  She  had 
within  her  the  greatest  gift  of  God,  supreme  grat- 


Tony  Finds  a  New  Home          107 

itude.  To  work  for  him  would  be  bliss  indeed. 
She  didn't  want  to  cry,  so  to  keep  from  it,  she 
bit  down  on  her  red  underlip.  He  had  said  in 
positive  tones  that  he  wanted  her.  It  did  seem 
good  to  be  wanted  somewhere.  What  she  did  then 
Pendlehaven  remembered  many  a  long  day.  She 
bent  over  and  kissed  his  hand.  The  warm  red 
lips  thrilled  him  as  vibrant  youth  always  thrills 
weakness. 

"Can  Gussie  stay  too?"  she  pleaded  presently. 
"She'd  be  without  anybody  if  she  didn't  have 
me." 

"Yes,"  said  Pendlehaven,  as  his  brother 
opened  the  door.  "You  can  make  her  a  nice  home 
in  my  conservatory." 

It  took  but  a  moment  for  the  sick  man  to 
explain  to  Dr.  John  his  arrangements  with  Tonni- 
bel,  and  the  girl's  heart  was  not  the  only  rejoic- 
ing one  among  the  trio. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  WOMAN'S  HATRED 

THE  hardest  part  for  Tonnibel  came  when  she 
had  to  face  Mrs.  Curtis.  The  lady  looked  her 
over  with  cold  haughty  eyes,  as  Pendlehaven 
made  the  introductions. 

"She  will  be  exclusively  with  Paul,"  said  he, 
"but  I  thought  you  could  go  with  me  this  after- 
noon to  get  her  some  clothes." 

When  Katherine  Curtis  came  home  late  that 
afternoon  she  found  her  mother  in  a  towering 
rage,  surrounded  by  many  strange  looking  boxes 
and  bundles. 

"For  heaven's  sake  what's  the  matter?"  asked 
the  girl. 

"I  think  your  cousin  John's  gone  mad,"  said 
Mrs.  Curtis,  beginning  to  cry. 

"But  he's  not  mad  over  you,  or  you  wouldn't 
be  squalling,"  retorted  the  girl,  insolently. 

108 


A  Woman's  Hatred  109 

"Mother,  I  never  saw  anybody  who  can  weep  at 
a  word  the  way  you  can." 

"You'll  weep  too  when  I  tell  you  what's  hap- 
pened," sobbed  the  woman. 

"Then  tell  me,"  and  Katherine  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"He's  brought  a  ragged  girl  into  the  house  to 
stay,"  came  from  behind  the  handkerchief  in  ex- 
planation, "a  girl  with  bare  feet,  and  enough  hair 
for  three  people.  From  what  I  could  gather  she's 
going  to  stay  over  with  Paul.  And  John  insisted 
on  my  going  with  him  to  buy  these.  Think  of  a 
poor  nobody  dressed  up  like  a  horse." 

With  her  foot  she  tumbled  the  boxes  open. 

"Cousin  John's  got  good  taste,  I  must  say," 
said  the  girl,  enviously,  as  she  picked  up  a  deli- 
cate frock.  "Where  is  the  creature?" 

"Maria's  got  her  in  the  bathroom  giving  her  a 
scrub,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Curtis,  "and  she  needed 
it  too." 

Katherine  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"I  suppose  you  served  Cousin  John  a  deep- 
seated  spell  of  hysterics,  didn't  you,  when  he 
popped  the  girl  in  on  you?"  she  demanded. 


110     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"I  did  my  best,"  admitted  Mrs.  Curtis,  sniff- 
ling. 

"Men  get  surfeited  to  women's  tears,  mamma 
darling,"  said  the  all-wise  Katherine.  "If  I 
wanted  to  make  any  impression  on  him,  I'd  leave 
off  howling  every  minute  or  two.  And  you  don't 
look  pretty  when  your  nose  is  red.  Who  is  the 
gutter  rat?' 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  She's  got  a  queer 
name,  and  I  asked  her  about  herself,  and  she 
looked  as  sulky  as  could  be." 

"Leave  it  to  me "  began  Katherine. 

Just  then  the  door  swung  open,  and  there  ap- 
peared before  Katherine  Curtis  a  girl  who  made 
her  breath  almost  stop  with  surprise.  A  very 
young  girl  too,  the  gazer  caught  at  a  glance.  Wide, 
gray  eyes  fringed  with  long  dark  lashes  looked 
embarrassedly  out  upon  her.  Abundant  curls 
hung  about  one  of  the  most  beautiful  faces  Kath- 
erine had  ever  seen.  Her  mother  hadn't  told  her 
the  girl  was  so  pretty.  She  felt  a  nervousness 
come  over  her  when  she  thought  of  Philip  Mac- 
Cauley.  But  then  and  there  she  determined  that 


A  Woman's  Hatred  111 

he  should  not  see  either  the  curls  or  the  eyes  if 
she  could  help  it. 

In  silence  Tonnibel  donned  her  new  clothes, 
and  when  she  stood  up  to  be  inspected,  Mrs. 
Curtis  scowled  at  her. 

"Go  show  Dr.  John,"  she  said.  "He  told  me 
to  send  you  right  down  to  him." 

Tonnibel  was  glad  to  escape.  Katherine  hadn't 
said  a  word  to  her,  but  both  girls  had  eyed  each 
Other  appraisingly.  Tonnibel  decided  the  other 
girl  was  cross  looking,  and  Katherine  suddenly 
came  to  a  resolution,  which  she  made  known  to 
her  mother  the  moment  they  were  alone. 

"She  can't  stay  in  this  house,"  she  said  between 
her  teeth. 

Mrs.  Curtis  laughed  sarcastically. 

"See  what  you  can  do  with  your  cousin,  then," 
she  snapped.  "I  did  my  best  with  John,  and  he 
positively  refused  to  let  me  go  to  Paul !  As  much 
as  told  me  it  was  none  of  my  business." 

"I  won't  cry  when  I  talk  to  him,"  said  the  girl. 
"I'll  speak  my  mind  outright.  The  very  idea  of 
bringing  her  here.  Why !  She's  beautiful !" 

"Now  is  she*?"  asked  Mrs.  Curtis,  wonderingly. 


112     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

J  o» 

"I  didn't  notice  that.  I  suppose  I  was  too  angry. 
Anyway,  I  see  no  beauty  in  common  people." 

"She  doesn't  look  common  to  me,"  replied 
Katherine.  "Mamma,  have  you  got  a  cigarette'?" 

Mrs.  Curtis  sniffled. 

"I've  told  you  over  and  over,  Katherine,  not  to 
smoke,  if  you  want  Philip,"  she  said.  "He  heart- 
ily disapproves  of  it.  It's  different  with  me,"  and 
thus  ending  her  admonition  she  lighted  a  cigarette 
and  took  a  deep  inhaling  breath. 

"Why?"  asked  Katherine,  getting  up  and  help- 
ing herself  to  the  forbidden  article.  "Why  is  it 
different?" 

"Well,  John  smokes  himself,  so  he  doesn't 
notice  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Curtis.  "Now  Philip 
doesn't.  If  he  should  ever  try  and  kiss  you  and 
smell " 

The  girl  lighted  the  cigarette  casually. 

"I'll  run  the  risk  I  think  though,"  she  thrust 
in.  "Damn  it,  I  wish  he'd  say  something  worth 
while,  and  not  howl  the  salvation  of  souls  at  me 
every  time  he  comes." 

"He  might  not  like  to  hear  you  swear  either," 


A  Woman's  Hatred  113 

remarked  her  mother,  tartly.  "Where  you  got 
your  manners  from  beats  me." 

"From  you,  beloved  mother,"  returned  Kath- 
erine,  rising.  "Good-by,  my  sweet,  and  I  hope 
when  I  see  you  again  to  be  able  to  tell  you  the 
commoner  is  gone." 

"Cousin,  may  I  come  in  9"  asked  Katherine, 
opening  the  doctor's  office  door  a  little  way. 

"Certainly,  child,"  invited  Dr.  John.  "Any- 
thing the  matter'?" 

Katherine  took  a  hasty  look  around  the  room. 
"Oh,  I  only  wanted  to  talk  to  you.  Are  you 
alone4?" 

"I  am  now  at  this  moment,"  was  the  reply. 
"Sit  down!  What  do  you  think  of  Paul's  pretty 
protegee1?" 

The  girl  put  on  a  bored  look  which,  like  her 
mother's  tears,  made  no  impression  on  the  medical 
man.  He  brushed  away  a  smile  that  forced  itself 
to  his  lips. 

"She  might  be  considered  good  looking  by  some 
people,"  Katherine  replied,  "but,  Cousin  John, 
neither  mother  nor  I  want  her  in  the  house.  Why 
do  we  have  to  have  her4?" 


114  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

It  was  such  a  bold  question  that  an  anirry 
sparkle  gleamed  for  a  moment  in  the  doctor's  gray 
eyes. 

"Did  you  ever  ask  yourself  whose  house  this 
is,  my  dear  Katherine  *?"  he  demanded  of  her. 

"Well,  of  course  it's  yours,  and — and  Cousin 
Paul's,"  replied  the  girl,  "but  mother  and  I— 

"Then  if  it's  our  house,  can't  we  have  any  one 
in  it  we  want  to?" 

The  question  was  put  to  her  almost  in  a  drawl. 
Katherine  arose  hastily. 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  such  a  common 
girl  here,"  she  said  testily,  and  before  the  doctor 
could  answer,  she  had  flounced  out  of  the  room. 

She  told  her  mother  the  hasty  conversation  in 
a  nutshell. 

"I'll  make  the  house  too  hot  to  hold  her,"  she 
announced  as  she  left  Mrs.  Curtis  in  tears.  "I 
think  I  know  how  to  put  one  over  on  our  philan- 
thropic cousins." 

When  Tonnibel  came  into  the  office  that  eve- 
ning to  ask  a  very  important  question  of  Dr. 
Pendlehaven,  he  said  to  her : 

"My   dear,   I   want   you   always   to   remember 


A  Woman's  Hatred  115 

what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  now.  This  house 
belongs  to  my  brother  and  me.  I  do  not  wish  you 
to  take  orders  from  any  one  but  us." 

Tony  gazed  at  him  a  moment,  not  understand- 
ing at  first.  Then  her  lips  widened. 

"That  means  if  any  one  says  I've  got  to  hike 
back  to  the  canal  boat,  I  don't  go  unless  one  of 
you  tells  me  to,"  she  demanded.  "Is  that  it1?" 

The  doctor  laughed. 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  said  he.  "Now  what  did  you 
want  of  me*?" 

Tony  considered  him  a  few  seconds. 

"Can  I  go  down  the  lake  to-morrow  after- 
noon  "  she  hesitated  and  then  went  on,  "I 

want  to  see  if  any  one's  home." 

"Certainly,  dear  child,  you  can,"  was  the 
answer.  "But  get  back  before  it's  dark;  I  don't 
want  anything  to  happen  to  my  little  Tony  girl." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  TRYST 

THE  next  afternoon,  Tony  and  Gussie  Piglet 
reached  the  canal  boat  at  three  o'clock.  It  was  in 
the  same  condition  as  when  she  had  left  it,  with 
no  signs  of  her  father  or  mother  having  been  there. 
She  swiftly  opened  the  little  bundle  she  carried 
and  took  out  her  old  clothes.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  had  taken  off  the  pretty  muslin  dress,  the  new 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  when  she  came  out  on 
deck  a  few  moments  later,  she  was  very  much  the 
same  looking  girl  who  had  left  it  the  day  before. 
To  the  dock  she  went  and  sat  down  on  the  end  of 
it,  letting  her  feet  slip  into  the  water. 

There  Philip  MacCauley  found  her  when  he 
canoed  up  at  four  o'clock. 

"Don't  you  want  to  take  a  little  ride?"  he 
asked  laughingly. 

Tonnibel  glanced  about.  No  human  being  was 
in  sight.  The  only  sounds  she  heard  were  the 

116 


The  Tryst  117 

lapping  of  the  waves  against  the  sides  of  the  boat 
and  the  twitterings  of  the  birds  in  the  trees. 

"Can  Gussie  go  too?"  she  hesitated  in  con- 
fusion. 

"Surely,  both  of  you  climb  in,"  said  the  lad. 
"There  now  sit  quietly,  and  don't  move  about. 
Shall  we  go  down  the  lake1?" 

"Yep,"  replied  Tonnibel.  "Go  anywhere.  Oh, 
ain't  it  lovely?" 

How  happy  she  would  have  been  just  then  if 
she  could  have  looked  through  the  space  that 
divided  them  and  seen  that  her  mother  was  safe 
and  well.  But  with  the  hopefulness  of  youth,  she 
cast  aside  her  apprehension.  Perhaps  when  she 
came  again  Edith  would  be  back  on  the  boat. 

She  intended  to  come  every  day — perhaps. 

Philip  MacCauley  was  looking  at  her  quiz- 
zically. 

"What're  you  thinking  about*?"  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"Just  about  some  one  I  like,"  replied  the  girl, 
raising  innocent  eyes. 

"Some  boy?"  he  asked  with  a  peculiar  tone  in 
his  voice. 


118  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Nope,  just  a  woman,"  answered  Tonnibel, 
and  that  was  all  she  said. 

They  slipped  along  the  shore  quietly  as  Philip 
was  thinking  ot  something  else  to  say,  something 
that  would  not  bring  that  tone  of  aloofness  into 
her  voice,  something  out  of  his  vast  storehouse 
of  religious  joy  to  take  away  the  shadow  in  her 
eyes  and  the  droop  from  the  childish  mouth. 

"You're  very  pretty,"  he  said  presently,  al- 
though it  wasn't  what  he  had  meant  to  say  at  all. 

Tony  gasped  at  the  beautiful  words,  and  the 
blood  ran  in  swift  waves  to  her  temples. 

"You  needn't  blush,"  said  Philip,  getting  red 
himself.  "If  you  don't  like  me  to  say  you're 
pretty,  I  won't." 

Like  it! 

"Why,  I  love  it,"  she  exclaimed  childishly,  and 
Philip  laughed  again. 

What  a  delightful,  simple,  natural  girl  she  was. 
He  wished  though  that  she  had  on  shoes  and 
stockings,  although  he  admitted  to  himself  with 
a  slight  thrill  that  her  bare  feet  were  very  slen- 
der and  pretty.  He  wasn't  the  only  one  wishing 
that  wish.  Tonnibel  too  desired  with  all  her 


The  Tryst  119 

throbbing  young  heart  that  she  had  dared  wear 
her  lovely  clothes  before  this  beautiful  boy.  But 
for  Edith's  sake  she  could  not  let  him  know  that 
she  had  had  to  leave  the  boat.  It  was  much  more 
difficult  not  answering  him  with  his  steady  dark 
eyes  upon  her  than  it  was  when  Dr.  Pendle- 
haven  had  asked  her  questions. 

"You're  a  funny  little  girl,"  Philip  said  after 
a  while  with  a  chuckle.  "How  old  are  you?" 

"Nearly  half  past  sixteen,"  she  answered 
under  her  breath.  "I'm  awfully  grown  up  now." 

Philip  decided  that  he  liked  very  young  girls 
better  than  he  did  those  of  twenty  or  thereabouts. 
Katherine  was  nearly  twenty,  and  so  were  all  the 
girls  he  knew  intimately. 

"I've  been  thinking  about  you  nearly  all  the 
time  since  I  saw  you  yesterday,"  he  said  pres- 
ently. 

"That's  awful  nice,"  sighed  Tonnibel.  "I  been 
thinking  about  you  too.  I've  learned  myself 
what's  wrote  on  the  card  you  gave  me." 

"I'm  glad!"  Philip  went  on  hurriedly,  a  lump 
hopping  into  his  throat.  "I  made  up  my  mind 
last  night,  I'd  have  a  good  talk  with  you  to-day." 


120  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

He  rested  his  paddle  and  leaned  over  toward  her. 
"I  never  saw  a  girl  just  like  you  before  in  all  my 
life!  Have  you  ever  been  to  school1?" 

His  voice  lowered  on  the  last  words.  He  didn't 
want  to  offend  her,  but  there  were  some  things  he 
simply  had  to  know. 

"Well,  mebbe  not  exactly  to  school,"  returned 
Tonnibel,  truthfully,  "but  I've  studied  and  read 
a  lot.  Then  I've  read  newspapers.  Why,  when  I 
wasn't  no  bigger'n  this  Gussie  Piglet,  I  could  say 
the  A.B.C.'s  faster'n  anything." 

She  was  growing  more  fascinating  every 
moment.  How  pretty  she  looked  curled  up  in  the 
stern  of  the  canoe,  holding  the  sleeping  pig  to 
her  breast. 

"I  wish  you  could  go  to  school  right  away,"  he 
said  earnestly.  "Would — would  you  let  me  see 
about  it?" 

Tonnibel  dropped  her  eyes  and  flushed. 

"I  got  other  things  to  do,"  she  answered  in  a 
low  voice.  "Schoolin's  for  rich  girls  like — • 
like- 
Down  went  the  white  teeth  on  her  lip.  She  had 
almost  said,  "like  Miss  Katherine." 


The  Tryst  121 

"Who  for  instance?"  demanded  the  boy. 

"Oh,  just  girls  with  lots  of  boodle,"  was  the 
reply.  "Better  go  back  now.  I  got  to  go  some- 
where." 

"But  to-morrow,"  flung  in  Philip.  "May  I 
come  again  to-morrow?" 

"You  can  paddle  by  the  'Dirty  Mary,'  " 

answered  Tony.  "If  I'm  here "  she  smiled  at 

him,  "then  I'll  be  here,  that's  all." 

"To-morrow  then?"  he  said  as  she  climbed  out 
on  the  dock. 

"Yep,  to-morrow,"  replied  Tonnibel,  and 
Philip  swiftly  paddled  away. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    PRODIGAL    COMES    HOME 

AND  so  it  happened  as  the  spring  advanced, 
Tony  Devon  went  to  the  canal  boat  day  after 
day  to  meet  Philip  MacCauley,  but  she  had  had 
no  chance  to  attend  the  Salvation  Army  services. 
If  she  had  not  felt  a  little  conscience  stricken, 
she  could  just  as  well  have  gone,  but  she  had  not 
been  courageous  enough  to  speak  of  Captain  Mac- 
Cauley to  her  friends.  Little  by  little  Paul  Pen- 
dlehaven  taught  her,  and  little  by  little  Tony's 
salvation  boy  preached  his  lessons  of  Universal 
Love  to  her;  and  the  eager  young  mind  drank  in 
the  knowledge  as  a  thirsty  plant  takes  in  water. 

There  were  no  signs  of  Uriah  and  Edith  return- 
ing, and  Tonnibel  grew  daily  more  hopeless  when 
she  thought  of  her  mother.  Perhaps  she  would 
never  see  her  again.  She  had  strenuously  refused 
to  speak  of  her  people  to  Paul  Pendlehaven,  and 
one  morning  when  he  was  subtly  trying  to  draw 

122 


The  Prodigal  Comes  Home          123 

her  past  from  her,  she  bent  forward  and  centered 
her  steady  gray  eyes  upon  him. 

"What  if  some  time  you'd  swore  on  the  Christ, 
you  wouldn't  tell  a  thing*?"  she  burst  forth. 

"Then  I  wouldn't  tell  it,"  said  Paul,  promptly. 
"But  you  do  interest  me  so  much,  and  one  thing 
is  I'm  always  afraid  somebody  will  come  along 
and  take  you  away." 

Tonnibel  hugged  Gussic  up  in  her  arms. 

"No  danger  of  that,"  she  returned  sadly.  "I 
guess  there  ain't  anybody  wantin'  me  but  you. 
Did  you  ever  promise  any  one  you  wouldn't  tell 
about  your  baby — the  one  you  lost*?" 

An  expression  of  misery  crossed  Pendlehaven's 
face. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  he.  "I,  like  you,  have 
lost  my  only  beloved.  My  baby!  It's  so  many 
years  now.  I'm  losing  hope  of  ever  finding  her." 

Tony  touched  his  hand. 

"I  bet  a  nickel  you  will,"  she  faltered.  "Don't 
you  pray  every  night  you'd  get  'er*?  And  didn't 
you  tell  me  to  always  be  wishin'  it  too"?  Why! 
Why,  some  day  smack,  bang,  that  kid'll  flop  right 
down  before  your  face.  Then — then "  She 


324  The  Shadow  of  1lic  Sheltering  Pines 

paused,  lowered  her  head,  and  the  man  saw  the 
•cri  m5  nil  blood  rushing  upward  to  lier  cars. 

"And  tiu'nV  he  asked,  deeply  touched. 

'"Then  vou  won't  want  me/'  Tony  trailed  on. 
•Nobody  will!" 

Pendlehaven  rose  on  his  elbow  and  placed  a 
hand  on  her  head. 

"Ton}-,  dear  little  girl,"  he  said  huskily,  "no 
one  in  the  world  can  send  you  away  from  me. 
Unless  you  go  yourself— 

"Then  I  stay  forever,"  gasped  Tony,  "and  I'll 
learn  everything  you  want  me  to." 

Dr.  John  noticed  as  the  days  passed  how 
much  better  his  brother  was  looking,  and  no  won- 
der his  own  heart  warmed  hourly  to  the  curly- 
headed  waif  who  had  come  among  them  so  mys- 
teriously. 

Unknown  to  either  of  the  doctors,  Mrs.  Curtis 
.'and  her  daughter  had  been  able  to  keep  Tony 
Devon  from  meeting  Philip  MacCauley  in  the 
house.  At  first  John  Pendlehaven  had  insisted 
that  Tony  attend  the  family  table,  but  both  Paul 
and  the  girl  decided  that  her  meals  should  be 
served  in  the  sick  room.  Perhaps  if  Philip  Mac- 


The  Prodigal  Comes  Home          125 

Cauley  hadn't  been  so  interested  in  a  certain  little 
girl  on  a  canal  boat,  his  curiosity  would  have 
taken  him  to  Paul's  apartments  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  little  companion  John  Pen- 
dlehaven  had  casually  spoken  of. 

"She's  a  wonder,  Phil,"  he  said  one  evening; 
"For  the  first  time  I've  hopes  of  Paul's  recovery." 

"Good!"  replied  Philip,  and  immediately  fell 
into  a  re  very. 

One  day,  after  an  absence  of  two  weeks,  Reg- 
inald Brown,  haggard  and  half  drunk,  came  home. 
He  took  his  place  at  the  table,  glad  that  Cousin 
John  had  been  called  out  before  the  dinner  hour. 

"We're  so  glad  to  have  \ou  back,  sonny,"  said 
Mrs,  Curtis.  Ctft  seems  a  year  since  you  went 
away." 

Reggie  gruntrcl  and  made  no  answer. 

"And  I  suppose  you've  had  a  lovely  time  and 
are  ready  to  go  back  to  school  like  a  good  boy," 
flung  in  Katherlne,  sarcastically. 

"Mind  your  own  affairs,"  snarled  Reggie.. 
"Anything  new  happened?" 

"Nothing  much,"  sighed  Mrs.  Curtis. 

Reginald  looked  at  her  keenly. 


126  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"There  has  too,"  he  contradicted.  "I  can  tell 
by  the  tone  of  your  voice.  Out  with  it." 

"Mother's  had  twenty  fits  since  you  left,"  put 
in  Katherine.  "Cousin  Paul  has  a  companion.  A 
companion,  mind  you !  Paul  refuses  to  dress  her 
like  a  servant,  and  when  Mamma  said  she  had  to 
put  up  her  hair  and  wear  a  cap  both  of  our 

beloved  cousins  chipped  in.  John  said The 

house  is  turned  topsy  turvy." 

Reginald  rubbed  his  brow. 

"Don't  clatter  so  much,"  he  said  dully.  "My 
head  aches.  What  in  hell  do  I  care  who  comes  to 
this  house 9  'Tain't  mine!" 

The  subject  was  dropped  immediately  and  for 
a  while  mother  and  sister  tried  to  draw  from  the 
boy  where  he  had  been.  But  for  most  of  the 
time  he  did  not  answer  their  questions  and  ate 
slowly  in  silence. 

After  dinner  he  followed  his  mother  up  to  her 
rooms,  and  when  die  door  was  closed,  burst  out 
bluntly: 

"Mater,  I've  got  to  have  some  money!" 

Mrs.  Curtis  as  usual  began  to  cry. 

"Reggie,  my  dear,  I  saw  that  in  your  face  the 


The  Prodigal  Comes  Home          127 

moment  you  came  in,"  she  said,  using  her  hand- 
kerchief. "I  haven't  any  money !  You  know  I 
gave  you  all  I  had  before  you  went  away." 

The  boy  sank  down  on  a  chair  heavily. 

"You've  got  to  get  me  some,"  he  muttered. 
"Go  to  Cousin  John  for  it.  I've  got  to  have  it." 

"What  for?"  Mrs.  Curtis  peeped  at  him  from 
her  wet  handkerchief. 

"That's  my  business,"  snapped  Reginald.  "It's 
up  to  you  to  get  it  for  me,  that's  all !  You  better 
not  make  me  mad!': 

"Not  unless  you  tell  me  what  you  want  it 
for,"  and  her  tone  was  so  decided  that  Reginald's 
eyes  lifted  from  his  working  fingers  to  her  face. 
Should  he  tell  her  the  truth? 

"Well,  then  it's  this,"  he  said.  "I  know  a  girl 
who's  got  all  kinds  of  money.  Her  father  wants 
me  to  marry  her,  but  she's  slipped  away  some- 
where, not  being  overmuch  enamored  of  your 
son." 

Mrs.  Curtis  kept  her  eyes  on  him  searchingly. 

"I  tell  you  gospel  truth,"  he  went  on.  "We'd 
be  richer  than  Cousin  John  if  I  can  carry  out  my 
plans." 


128  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  marry,"  whined  Mrs. 
Curtis.  "If  you'd " 

"Don't  preach,"  cried  Reginald,  getting  up. 

"I  tell  you,  I've  got  to  have  money Think  it 

over,  old  lady,  and  get  me  five  hundred  by  to- 
morrow!" 

"Five  hundred !"  gasped  the  woman.  "Are 
you  mad,  wild,  crazy- 
Reginald  didn't  wait  to  hear  any  more  but 
went  off  to  his  own  room  to  rest.  It  was  fully 
two  o'clock  before  the  young  man  came  down- 
stairs the  next  day. 

Katherine  met  him  in  the  dining  room. 

"It's  perfectly  atrocious,  Reggie,"  she  said, 
"how  you  hector  mamma  for  money." 

"Well,  I  need  it  in  my  business,"  retorted  Reg- 
gie. "Where  is  the  old  lady?" 

His  sister  looked  at  him  in  disgust. 

"She's  sick  in  bed,"  she  answered.  "And  you 
made  her  so.  She  had  such  a  spell  of  hysterics 
that  Cousin  John  ordered  her  to  bed  and  said  you 
weren't  to  bother  her  until  she's  better." 

With  a  curse  Reginald  flung  himself  out  of  the 
room  and  a  few  minutes  later  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    FIGHT 

TONNIBEL  had  reached  the  canal  boat  and 
changed  her  clothes  when  suddenly  she  heard  foot- 
steps on  the  path  beside  the  Hoghole.  Her  heart 
almost  leapt  out  of  her  mouth.  Perhaps  her 

mother  was  coming  home,  perhaps  her  father 

Tremblingly  she  peeped  out  through  the  aperture. 
She  drew  back  instantly.  Reginald  Brown  was. 
approaching  the  canal  boat.  She  heard  him  cross, 
the  deck,  and  then  the  footsteps  ceased.  She 
hoped  with  all  her  might  and  main  that  he 
wouldn't  think  of  coming  downstairs. 

But  that  was  exactly  what  he  did  do.  She 
crouched  up  against  the  bunk,  as  the  boy  stepped 
into  the  cabin.  When  he  saw  her  a  slow  grin 
spread  over  his  thin  face. 

"So  you're  here,"  he  got  out  thickly.  "Where 
have  you  been4?  I've  visited  this  place  three  times 

129 


130  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

in  that  many  weeks.  Where  have  you  been,  I 
say?' 

Tonnibel  knew  that  he'd  been  drinking  by  the 
way  he  tried  to  keep  erect  on  his  feet. 

"Go  away,"  she  said,  half  frightened  to  death. 
"You'd  better  get  out  of  here  before  my  mother 
comes  back.  She'll  beat  you  with  the  broom !" 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  your  father  or  mother,"  he 
said  tauntingly.  "I  know  where  they  are." 

The  words  sent  Tonnibel  forward  a  step. 

"Honest?"  she  gasped.  "Is  it  honest  what  you 
say?' 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  young  man,  "and  they 
told  me  to  come  here  and  get  you." 

"Where  are  they?"  She  had  come  very  near 
him  now,  her  eyes  gazing  at  him  wistfully. 
"Please  tell  me  where  my  mummy  is !" 

"Nevermind  just  now,"  said  he,  his  eyes  taking 
in  her  slight  young  figure  passionately.  "Here,  I 
want  to  kiss  you." 

He  thrust  out  his  hand  and  snatched  her  arm. 
She  wanted  to  run,  to  get  away  from  the  boat  out 
into  the  forest.  Reggie  read  the  thought  that  had 


The  Fight  131 

flashed  through  her  mind,  and  he  laughed  boister- 
ously. 

"Nothing  doing,"  he  remarked.    "Here!" 

He  dragged  her  forward  until  her  slender 
quivering  body  was  pressed  against  his.  He  had 
said  he  intended  to  kiss  her.  All  the  rebellion 
of  a  primitive  uneducated  nature  sprang  into  life 
within  Tony  Devon.  The  curly  head  darted  up- 
ward for  a  moment,  and  the  gray  eyes  blazed 
into  the  muddy  blue  ones,  leering  down  upon  her. 
Then  knowing  no  other  way  to  protect  herself 
from  desecration,  she  set  her  sharp  white  teeth 
into  Reggie's  hand,  sinking  them  deep  beneath 
his  skin.  A  cry  of  hurt  rage  escaped  his  lips,  and 
he  flung  her  from  him. 

"You  little  vixen,"  he  got  out,  shaking  his 
hand  in  panic.  "You  little  wicked  brat!  There! 
Now,  I'll  teach  you  to  bite  me  again." 

He  sprang  at  her,  and  Tony  screamed  twice 
with  all  her  lung  power.  Then  something  hap- 
pened! Some  one  grasped  hold  of  the  man  who 
had  snatched  her  into  his  arms,  and  for  what 
seemed  an  interminable  time,  two  forms  struggled 
together  in  the  small  cabin.  For  a  few  ..econds 


132  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Tony  didn't  realize  who  Reggie's  assailant  was. 
then  with  a  grip  at  her  heart  she  recognized 
Philip's  white  face  as  with  terrible  strength  he 
dragged  Reggie  up  the  steps. 

Into  her  terrified  eyes  came  one  strange  flash- 
ing smile  of  welcome.  Her  salvation  man  hadi 
saved  her,  and  as  ever}'  woman  does  in  cases  where 
her  need  is  great,  she  cried  out  her  thanksgiving  in 
his  name,  that  best  beloved  name  of  Ph.il ip.  By 
this  time  the  two  men  were  struggling  on  the 
deck,  and  as  if  impelled  by  some  unknown  force, 
Tony  staggered  up  the  steps. 

It  was  just  as  she  reached  the  top  that  she  saw 
Captain  MacCauley,  by  one  mighty  effort,  lift  the 
struggling  figure  of  the  other  man  and  throw  him 
into  the  lake.  A  sharp  ejaculation  fell  from  her 
lips.  Never  had  she  seen  such  strength,  never  had 
her  heart  sung  as  it  did  then.  'Twas  the  song  of 
a  woman's  clean  soul  when,  after  a  great  terror 
had  overwhelmed  it,  it  suddenly  realized  that  the 
one  man  in  the  world  had  come  forth  out  of  some- 
where to  save — and  to  protect  it.  She  trembled 
so  that  when  Philip  swung  back  and  rushed 
toward  her,  she  sank  down  at  his  feet.  As  falls 


The  Fight  133 

away  an  old  garment  so  fell  away  Philip's  anger. 
Tenderly  he  lifted  her  up  and  spoke  to  her. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  he  whispered.  But  he  had 
no  time  to  add  anything,  nor  had  Tony  time  to 
answer  him. 

For  there  on  the  Hoghole  path  looking  at  her, 
a  frown  dragging  his  brows  together,  was  her 
father. 

Uriah  Devon  had  halted  at  the  sight  of  a  man 
being  thrown  into  the  water.  Then  he  came  for- 
ward, and  the  girl  loosened  herself  from  the  arms 
that  held  her  and  turned  swiftly  to  him. 

"Where's  mummy?"  she  demanded,  and  again 
came  a  sharper:  "Where's  my  mother?"  Roughly 
shoving  her  aside,  Uriah  walked  across  the  boat 
deck,  his  sunken  eyes  fixed  on  MacCauley. 

"What  you  mussin'  about  my  boat  for,  mis- 
ter?" he  demanded.  "And  what  happened  to  that 
young  feller  crawlin'  to  the  beach  there?" 

"I  slung  him  in  the  lake,"  said  Philip,  fiercely. 

"The  pup  was — was '  he  made  a  gesture 

toward  Tony  as  Devon's  interruption  belched 
forth: 


134  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering 

"Was  it  any  of  your  business  what  happcmed 
to  my  girl?" 

"He  saved  me,  daddy,"  cried  Tonnibel.  "I  was 
being  hurt  and  him  and  salvation  helped  me." 

Uriah  took  another  step  toward  the  young  cap- 
tain. 

"That's  your  canoe,  ain't  it,  roped  to  my 
dock?"  he  demanded  fiercely.  "Well,  hop  in  and 
get  away  if  you  don't  want  a  broken  skull!" 

Philip  sent  a  flashing  glance  to  the  silent  white 
girl.  There  was  such  terror  marked  on  tier  face 
that  his  teeth  came  together  tensely. 

"He  can't  go  till  my  mother  comes,"  sne  broke 
out  abruptly.  "I  won't  stay  if  he  don't.'* 

Uriah's  hand  went  back  to  his  hip. 

"I  guess  he'll  go  if  I  tell  'im  to,'*  said  he. 
"Just  hop  into  your  boat,  kid,  before  I  fill  you  up 
to  your  teeth  with  little  bits  of  hot  Iea<i." 

Tonnibel  had  witnessed  scenes  like  this  before. 
She  knew  but  a  tiny  pressure  of  her  father's  finger 
on  the  gun  he  held,  would  kill  her  sweetheart. 

"Go  along,"  she  managed  to  get  out  between 
her  chattering  teeth.  "It'll  be  worse  for  both  of 
us  if  you  don't!" 


The  Fight  135 

DCYOH  was  forcing  Philip  backward  toward  the 
end  of  the  dock,  and  by  this  time  Reginald  had 
crawled  t©  the  shore  and  had  lain  down  upon  it. 

"Don't  lag,  mister,"  cried  Tony  to  Philip.  "Go 
along  to  Ithaca." 

MacCauley  stepped  into  his  canoe,  and  Devon 
sullenly  unfastened  the  rope  and  threw  it  into 
the  bow  of  the  craft. 

"Don't  come  back  here  if  you  don't  want  a 
taste  of  this,"  he  snapped,  touching  his  gun.  "Get 
out  and  stay  out,  mister." 

With  the  end  of  the  rerolrer,  he  gave  the 
canoe  a  shove,  and  Tony  saw  the  paddle  dip  into 
the  water,  and  the  boy  move  away. 

The  short  spring  day  was  almost  at  an  end. 
Over  the  lake  dusk  had  settled,  and  the  last  bird 
had  said  good  night  to  the  sun,  before  it  had 
rolled  in  fiery  splendor  down  over  the  hill.  Be- 
yond there  to  the  north  little  dark  clouds  drifted 
southward  on  the  rising  wind. 

Uriah  Btood  a  moment  and  looked  off  to  the 
hills.  Then  locking  Tony  in  the  cabin,  he  went  to 
where  Reggie  lay  on  the  shore,  and  helped  him 
back  to  the  boat. 


136  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"You're  a  nice  lookin'  duck,"  snid  Uriah,  star- 
ing at  the  dripping  lad.  "What  happened,  and 
where'd  that,  mutt  come  from  there  in  that 
canoe"?" 

Reggie's  frown  deepened. 

"He  don't  amount  to  anything,"  he  replied 
sulkily.  "Just  like  that-  h-  hopped  in  and  without 
a  word  slung  me  in  the  lake." 

"What  was  you  doin'V"  Uiiah  demanded. 

Reggie  didn't  answer  for  a  moment.  In  to  hi> 
eyes  had  swept  a  belligerent  expression. 

"Only  tryin'  to  kiss  the  k:J,"  lie  grumbled. 
"Look  where  she  bit  me." 

Uriah  glanced  at  the  lacerated  fingers,  Then 
he  laughed. 

"Some  little  hellion,  that 
"Never  mind.     Shell    -.-.  -.    j 
didn't  I  tell  3-011  to  let  her  alone  till   I  give  the 
word?" 

"And  I  have  till  now."  whined  Reg.rlr,  wiping 
the  drops  of  water  from  his  face.  ''You  sav  I've 
got  to  marry  her.  Can't  a  feller  kiss  the  girl  he's 
going  to  marry,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"Not  when  the  girl's  like  that  kid  is,"  replied 


The  Fight  137 

Devon.  "She's  got  to  be  handled  with  gloves.  If 
Ede  had  a  been  here  mebbe  she'd  a  flew  at  you 
too.  No  tellin'." 

"I  want  to  know  who  the  girl  is  before  I  marry 
her,"  thrust  in  Reggie,  doggedly. 

"You'll    know    when    I'm   damned   good    and 
ready  to  yap  it  to  you,"  Uriah  shot  back,  "and 
not  before.    Now  we'll  make  off  to  Auburn,  for 
no  tellin'   what  that  skunk  in   the  canoe'll  do. 
It's  goin'  to  rain  too,"  he  ended. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  FACE  IN  THE  WINDOW 

BY  ten  o'clock  a  heavy  rain  and  wind  had 
settled  over  the  Storm  Country  with  such  force 
that  the  waves  were  rolling  southward  like  ivory- 
crested  mountains.  Once  in  a  while  a  heavy  thud 
of  thunder  reverberated  over  the  lake  from  the 
north,  losing  its  roar  back  of  the  Cornell  build- 
ings on  the  University  Campus. 

Devon's  canal  boat  was  following  the  little  tug 
which  was  hugging  the  western  shore  northward. 
By  this  time  they  were  almost  two  miles  from  the 
head  of  the  lake,  and  although  the  progress  was 
slow,  they  had  passed  the  last  squatter's  hut  snug- 
gled in  the  ragged  rocks. 

Tonnibel,  in  the  little  room  back  of  the  cabin, 
was  searching  through  the  darkness  from  the  small 
window.  But  the  only  thing  she  could  see  was  th~ 
dark  bank  along  which  they  crept  and  whicr\  once 

138 


The  Face  in  the  Window  139 

in  a  while  was  lit  up  by  a  vivid  streak  of  light- 
ning. 

Now  the  two  men  were  on  the  little  tug  ahead, 
and  once  in  a  while  their  voices  were  borne  back 
to  her  on  the  wind.  But  she  didn't  care  what  they 
said  because  she  had  grown  heartsick  and  hope- 
less. The  familiar  little  chug-chug  of  the  tug  told 
her  she  was  being  carried  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
her  friends.  How  passionately  she  wished  that 
she  hadn't  come  that  day  to  the  boat  at  all.  When 
she  thought  of  Paul  Pendlehaven,  her  heart  ached, 
and  she  plead  for  herself  and  him  in  the  reverent 
terms  Philip  MacCauley  had  taught  her. 

Suddenly  the  engine  stopped,  and  as  if  she  im- 
agined Gussie  could  help  her,  she  gathered  her 
into  her  arms. 

In  a  vivid  streak  of  lightning,  she  saw  they 
were  anchored  close  to  Crowbar  point,  which  pro- 
tected them  somewhat  from  the  wind.  She 
crouched  low  when  the  little  door  opened,  and 
Uriah  called  her  name. 

"Come  out  here,  Tonnibel,"  he  commanded 
roughly,  and  Tony,  with  Gussie  still  in  her  arms, 


140  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

crept  into  the  cabin  where  Reggie  was  seated  on 
a  bunk  looking  pale  and  sullen. 

"Set  down  on  the  floor,  brat,"  commanded 
Uriah,  and  Tonnibel  dropped  down.  "Now  listen 
to  me,  Tony,"  went  on  Devon.  "Ever  since 
you've  been  knee  high  to  a  grasshopper  you  been 
as  mean  as  the  devil.  You  always  got  in  behind 
Ede  when  she  was  here,  but  now  there  ain't  no 
skirts  to  shove  me  off.  You  hear*?" 

Every  vestige  of  blood  left  the  wan  young  face. 

''Where  is  mummy'?"  she  said,  lifting  implor- 
ing eyes  to  his. 

"Dead,"  said  Devon,  brutally,  "as  dead  as  a 
door  nail.  Here,  my  lady,  if  you  holler,  I'll  rap 
you  one  on  the  gob." 

"Dead!"  cried  Tonnibel.  "Pop,  you're  lying  to 
me,  I  know  you  are!" 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  kid,"  replied  Uriah, 
with  an  insolent  laugh,  "but  one  thing's  sure,  Ede 
ain't  here  to  buck  against  me  now.  What  I  want 
to  get  into  your  thick  noodle  is,  you're  goin'  to 
get  married  as  soon  as  we  get  to  Auburn.  See1?" 

The  girl's  eyes  remained  centered  on  his  face, 
horror  deep-seated  in  their  gray  depths. 


The  Face  in  the  Window 

"Here's  Reggie  wantin'  to  marry  you,"  con- 
tinued Devon,  with  a  wide  wave  at  the  limp 
young  man.  "And  when  I  say  you've  got  to,  I 
mean  it." 

"I  won't,"  fell  from  Tony's  lips,  but  the  awful 
expression  on  her  face  didn't  change,  nor  did  she 
drop  her  eyes. 

Devon  took  a  quick  step  toward  her,  with  an 
upraised  arm,  and  as  he  had  beaten  his  wife,  so 
he  laid  the  blows  about  the  girl's  head  and  shoul- 
ders. The  pig  fell  from  Tony's  arms  in  her  des- 
perate efforts  to  protect  herself. 

"Oh,  daddy,  don't,  don't,  any  more!"  she 
screamed. 

Reggie  Brown  was  watching  the  brutal  scene 
dully  as  if  it  interested  him  but  little.  At  the 
girl's  fearful  plea,  Devon  stepped  back  and 
glared  at  her. 

"Will  you  do  what  I  bid  you,  miss*?"  he  de- 
manded hoarsely.  "I'd  as  soon  kill  you  as  take 
a  wink." 

Tonnibel  made  no  answer  save  to  weep  more 
wildly,  and,  because  she  did  not  make  ready  reply, 


142  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Uriah  struck  her  again.  Then  suddenly  Reginald 
stood  up. 

"Don't  hit  'er  any  more,  Dev,"  he  drawled. 
"Shut  'er  up  a  while,  and  keep  'er  without  grub, 
and  she'll  come  to  time.  Give  'er  a  night  to 
think  it  over.  God,  but  you've  walloped  her  black 
and  blue  as  'tis." 

In  answer  to  this,  Devon  picked  Tony  up  and 
threw  her  into  the  back  cabin.  Then  he  kicked 
Gussie  over  the  threshold,  slammed  the  door  and 
locked  it. 

In  a  few  minutes  Tony  Devon  heard  the  engine 
of  the  tug  start  up  again,  and  the  waves  swishing 
against  the  sides  of  the  boat. 

Philip  MacCauley  had  paddled  away  from  the 
"Dirty  Mary,"  with  a  dull  sick  fear  for  the  girl 
he  had  had  to  leave  behind.  To  fight  single- 
handed  a  drunken  man  with  a  gun  was  foolhardy 
and  would  do  little  Tony  no  good. 

When  he  reached  the  corner  of  the  lake,  he  ran 
his  craft  ashore  and  sat  for  a  long  time  thinking. 
The  clouds  had  begun  to  empty  their  contents  into 
Cayuga,  and  still  he  waited.  Suddenly  he  saw 
through  the  dusk  that  the  canal  boat  had  left  its 


The  Face  in  the  Window  143 

moorings  and  was  moving  slowly  northward  in 
the  teeth  of  the  rising  wind.  With  an  ejaculation 
he  shoved  off  and  was  out  in  the  boiling  surf. 
Wherever  that  boat  went,  he  decided  to  go  too. 
By  keeping  close  to  the  shore,  he  managed  to 
weather  the  waves,  and  when  he  paddled  close  to 
the  canal  boat,  he  took  a  long  breath  of  thanks- 
giving. It  was  too  dark  for  any  one  on  the  other 
boat  to  see  his  canoe,  and  the  sound  of  his  dipping 
paddle  was  lost  in  the  elemental  roar. 

As  he  paddled  carefully  along,  he  could  see 
the  shadows  of  two  men  in  the  glimmer  of  the 
little  light  in  the  small  pilot  house.  Then  Reggie 
was  there  with  Devon,  but  where  was  Tony? 

One  small  window  in  the  canal  boat  gave  forth 
a  dim  light.  He  felt  within  him  that  she  was  there 
where  that  light  was,  alone  and  suffering.  What 

jhad  she  thought  of  his  allowing  himself  to  be 
forced  away  from  her  when  she  needed  him  most1? 
Boyish  tears  stung  his  eyelids  as  he  remembered 

.  the  hopeless  expression  that  had  convulsed  her 
face  when  he  had  been  thrust  from  the  dock  into 
his  canoe.  His  teeth  came  together  sharply.  He 


144  The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

was  no  coward,  this  Philip  MacCauley,  this  cap- 
tain in  the  Salvation  Army. 

He  wanted  to  draw  up  along  the  side  of  the 
boat,  but  scarcely  dared.  He  was  afraid  that  sud- 
den contact  against  the  heavier  vessel  would  either 
tip  over  his  slender  craft  or  demolish  it  entirely. 
It  took  much  energy  to  keep  his  boat  top  up  and 
balanced  as  it  was.  Then  too  the  waves  beat  him 
back  every  time  he  came  abreast  the  window 
through  which  the  light  gleamed. 

Suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  a  passing  shadow 
in  the  cabin,  and  his  heart  leapt  up  within  him. 
'Twas  the  shadow  of  a  girl  walking  up  and  down. 
Grimly  his  teeth  set  into  his  under  lip  and  with 
one  deep  thrust  of  the  paddle  into  the  water,  he 
sent  the  canoe  headlong  toward  the  canal  boat. 
Then  it  was  that  a  girl's  face  came  to  the  window. 

The  canoe  almost  crashed  against  the  side  of 
the  bigger  boat  as  it  came  sidewise  of  it,  and 
Philip  caught  at  it  desperately.  Slowly  lifting 
himself  up  he  thrust  his  face  close  to  Tony's.  She 
was  staring  at  him  blankly,  as  if  his  ghost  had 
suddenly  risen  out  of  the  storm-tossed  lake. 

"Don't  do  that,  darling,"  he  whispered  as  she 


The  Face  in  the  Window 

drew  back  in  terror.  "I'm  going  to  take  you 
away." 

Then  she  realized  who  it  was,  and  reached  out 
and  clutched  at  him,  breathlessly. 

"Climb  through,"  undertoned  Philip.  "Quick, 
climb  through,  and  when  I  tell  you  to  drop,  do  it, 
but  not  before." 

By  holding  his  body  rigidly  erect,  he  managed 
to  keep  the  canoe  upright.  Then  he  waited,  but 
not  for  long.  Almost  immediately  a  girl's  bare 
arm  shot  through  the  window.  Something  wrig- 
gled in  her  clutching  fingers.  Philip  almost  lost 
his  hold  on  the  boat  as  Gussie  came  against  his 
face.  He  snatched  the  pig  and  dropped  it  at  his 
feet.  Then  a  pair  of  bare  legs  followed,  and 
Tony's  body  began  to  wriggle  through  the  narrow 
aperture. 

Once  or  twice  Philip  muttered  an  ejaculation 
as  a  streak  of  lightning  crossed  the  sky  only  to  die 
and  leave  the  water  as  dark  as  before.  It  was 
taking  the  girl  an  interminable  time  to  squeeze 
herself  through  that  opening.  Suddenly  her  shoul- 
ders were  through,  and  she  was  hanging  on  by  her 
hands. 


146     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Just  at  that  moment  the  tug  ahead  became 
silent,  and  Philip  heard  the  two  men  walking  back 
along  its  roof.  They  were  coming  aboard  the 
canal  boat,  and  if —  He  crushed  the  canoe 
nearer,  lifted  one  hand  and  jerked  the  hanging 
figure  of  the  girl  away  from  the  window.  She 
flopped  face  downward  into  the  bottom  of  the 
canoe,  and  Philip  left  her  there  limp  without  a 
word.  Then  he  let  go  his  hold  of  the  canal  boat, 
and  a  great  wave  lifted  his  slender  craft  upon  its 
crest,  and  they  shot  away  toward  the  bank. 

It  took  a  shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it 
for  the  canoe  to  reach  the  shore.  Under  the  over- 
hanging trees  where  they  were  shielded  from  the 
wind,  Philip  turned  and  looked  back.  A  man's 
face  was  thrust  through  the  window  which  had 
just  yielded  up  the  quiet  little  figure  at  his  feet. 
Then  two  forms  appeared  upon  the  stern  deck. 
From  the  hand  of  one  of  the  men  hung  a  lantern. 
Philip  remained  very  still.  He  knew  they  could 
not  see  him  hidden  away  there  in  the  darkness. 

For  a  long  time  through  which  Tonnibel  never 
moved,  Philip  waited.  The  men  on  the  canal 
boat  seemed  filled  with  terror.  They  ran  from 


The  Face  in  the  Window  147 

one  end  of  it  to  the  other.  He  heard  them  calling 
to  and  fro,  and  once  in  a  while  an  oath  escaped 
from  Devon  as  he  screamed  his  daughter's  name 
loudly. 

It  was  not  until  he  saw  one  of  them  climb  upon 
the  tug  and  heard  the  sudden  clang  of  the  engine 
that  the  boy  took  up  his  paddle  and  moved  slowly 
along  the  shore  southward,  and,  as  he  was  going 
with  the  wind,  Philip  made  rapid  progress  toward 
the  head  of  the  lake. 

In  a  little  cove  he  drew  the  canoe  to  the  shore, 
and  springing  out  dragged  it  its  length  from  the 
water. 

Then  he  called  softly : 

"Tony— little  Tony." 

The  girl  stirred  and  lifted  her  head. 

"Yep,"  she  sighed.    "I'm  here." 

"Come  out,"  said  Philip,  leaning  over  and  tak- 
ing hold  of  her  arm.  "There !  Child,  don't  shake 
so.  You're  safe  here  with  me,  and  I  suppose  they 
think  you're  drowned  by  this  time.  Can't  you  step 
out,  dear?' 

She  was  trembling  so  he  had  to  pick  her  up  and 
lift  her  out  in  his  arms.  Then  he  carried  her  under 


148     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

an  overhanging  rock  and  placed  her  on  the  sand. 

Through  many  sobs  and  tears,  she  told  him  all 
that  had  happened  on  the  canal  boat,  and  that 
her  father  had  said  her  mother  was  dead.  And  so 
touched  was  Philip  MacCauley,  he  felt  the  tears 
rim  his  own  lashes.  For  a  long  time,  in  fact  until 
the  rain  ceased  to  beat  upon  the  rocks  and  shore, 
they  stayed  under  cover.  Most  of  the  time  they 
were  silent,  most  of  the  time  Philip  held  the  curly 
head  against  his  breast.  When  the  dawn  began  to 
break  Tonnibel  roused  herself. 

"I'm  goin'  away  now,"  she  said.  "I've  got  to 
go  to  my  friends.  And  I  can't  tell  you  just  how 
much  I'm  thankin'  you." 

"But  if  I  let  you  go,"  protested  Philip,  "I'll 
never  see  you  again.  Oh,  don't  do  that.  Tony,  I 
couldn't  stand  it  now!" 

"I  couldn't  either,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"I'll  be  comin'  back  here  to  this  hole  some  day." 

"When?"   asked   Philip,   eagerly.     "To-day?" 

Tonnibel  shook  her  head. 

"Nope,"  she  replied  wearily.  "I'm  dead  beat 
out." 

"And  I  forgot  that,"  cried  the  boy.     "Tony, 


The  Face  in  the  Window  149 

darling,  will  you — will  you  kiss  me  before  you 
go?" 

Two  arms  shot  out  and  clasped  around  his 
neck.  Two  eager  lips  met  his  in  such  passionate 
abandon  that  for  a  long  time  after  Tony  and 
Gussie  had  gone  away  toward  the  Boulevard, 
Philip  MacCauley  lay  face  downward  on  the 
shore,  the  sun  peeping  at  him  from  the  eastern 
hill. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"DON'T  MAKE  ME  TELL!'" 

PAUL  Pendlehaven  lay  wide  awake  in  his  bed, 
his  sunken  eyes  filled  with  darkened  sorrow.  His 
brother  had  stayed  with  him  the  most  of  the 
night  and  now  sat  beside  him. 

"Go  to  bed,  Jack,"  said  the  sick  man  after  a 
long  silence. 

"Will  you  sleep4?"  asked  Dr.  John. 

"I'll  try,"  was  the  response.  "I  could  if  I 
knew  where  she  was." 

Dr.  John  reached  over  and  took  his  brother's 
thin  hand. 

"The  morning  may  bring  her  back,"  he  said 
soothingly.  "And  Paul,  old  man,  if  you  worry 
like  this,  you'll  be  back  where  you  were  four 
weeks  ago." 

The  invalid  sighed  heavily. 

"I've  grown  so  accustomed  to  her,"  he  said  in 
excuse,  "and  somehow  since  you  told  me  of  her 

150 


"Don't  Make  Me  Tell!"  151 

people,  I  fear  something  may  have  happened  to 
her." 

"We'll  hope  for  the  best,"  said  John  Pendle- 
haven,  rising.  "Now  if  I  run  down  for  a  wink 
or  two,  will  you  lie  quietly  while  I'm  gone?" 

"Yes,"  came  in  a  breath,  and  true  to  his  word, 
Paul  Pendlehaven  scarcely  breathed  for  a  long 
while  after  his  brother  went  out,  although  his 
heavy  gray  eyes  stared  at  the  breaking  dawn. 
If  any  one  had  told  him  a  month  ago,  he  could 
have  longed  for  any  human  being  as  he  now 
longed  for  Tony  Devon,  he  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved it.  How  he  had  wished  through  the  night- 
storm  to  know  where  she  had  gone,  how  he  wished 
then  for  some  little  word  from  the  pretty  child 
who  had  smiled  a  new  lease  of  life  into  his 
shriveled  frame.  He  dreaded  the  day  without  her 
dear  smile  bending  over  him.  Perhaps  she  would 
never  come  back.  At  that  thought  he  groaned. 

If  he  could  only  go  to  sleep.  Only  close  his 
eyes 

Outside  in  the  wistaria,  a  morning  bird  chirped 
its  greeting  to  the  sun.  From  over  among  the  ivy 
on  the  other  wing  of  the  house,  came  an  answer 


152     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

equally  sweet  and  appealing.  Something  in  the 
thrilling  notes  of  the  feathered  songsters  brought 
relief  to  the  weary  man.  God  was  everywhere ! 
Of  course,  He  heard  and  answered  the  pleas  of  His 
creatures !  Surely  the  hand  of  the  Infinite  would 
hold  back  any  destroying  power  that  might  thrust 
itself  against  the  blossoming  soul  of  Tonnibel 
Devon !  He  groaned  again  and  turned  over  on  his 
side.  Through  the  window  he  heard  the  rustling 
of  the  leaves  in  the  morning  breeze.  Perhaps,  as 
John  had  said,  Tony  had  gone  to  some  friend's 
house,  and  because  it  had  rained  so  furiously,  she 
had  stayed  the  night.  Perhaps  what  worried  him 
most  was  the  mystery  that  surrounded  these 
daily  expeditions.  Several  times  he  had  almost 
coaxed  her  to  tell  him  where  she  had  been,  but  on 
each  occasion  she  had  finally  shaken  her  curls  in 
refusal. 

His  lids  sank  slowly  down,  and  he  slept  fit- 
fully. Mingled  in  his  dream  of  Tony  Devon  came 
a  sharp  sound.  That,  like  Tony,  must  be  a  dream 
too,  that  sound  that  was  out  of  the  ordinary 
noises  of  the  day,  for  although  the  sun  had  called 
into  life  the  bees  and  birds,  Ithaca  still  slumbered. 


"Dont  Make  Me  Tell!"  153 

The  noise  came  again,  striking  against  his 
nervous  brain  and  waking  him.  Suddenly,  with 
panting  breath  and  beating  pulses,  he  lifted  him- 
self on  his  elbow.  The  screen  had  fallen  from  the 
window  and  perhaps  ten  seconds  passed  as  he 
stared  mutely  at  it.  Then  like  a  shot  from  a  gun, 
Tony  Devon  sprang  through  the  window  into  the 
room.  For  a  moment  the  sick  man  gazed  at  her 
with  mingled  emotions.  Something  dreadful  had 
happened  to  her.  For  one  single  instant  she 
paused  and  gave  him  back  look  for  look.  She 
was  so  white,  so  wraithlike  and  changed,  yet 
blotching  the  pallor  of  her  face  were  reddish  blue 
bruises.  Then  the  bare  feet  took  the  distance 
between  them  in  a  bound.  The  dimples  at  the 
corners  of  her  lips  lived  a  moment  and  were  gone. 

When  Paul  Pendlehaven  dropped  back  on  the 
pillow,  she  spoke. 

"Me  and  Gussie's  back,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"I  climbed  up  the  tree  and  got  to  the  roof,  fearin' 
to  wake  up  the  other  folks  in  the  house."  She  sat 
down  beside  the  bed.  "Somehow  I  knew  you'd  be 
lookin'  for  me,  sir." 

It  was  because  she  had  passed  through  such  a 


154     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

dreadful  night  and  was  so  terribly  tired  that  she 
cried  a  little  as  a  child  cries  after  it  has  been 
cruelly  punished. 

Paul  Pendlehaven  let  his  thin  hand  drop  on  the 
frowsly  head.  Tears  stung  his  own  lids  like 
nettles. 

"Dear  child/'  he  breatned,  "dear  pretty  child, 
I've  waited  all  night  for  you.  My  God,  what's 
happened  to  you?" 

Tony  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Somebody  beat  me  up,"  she  moaned.  "I  can't 
tell  anything  now.  And  I  lost  my  pretty  clothes." 

Sudden  strength  came  to  Paul  Pendlehaven. 
He  sat  up  straight  and  forcibly  lifted  the  pitiful 
hurt  face  so  he  could  look  at  it. 

"Tony,"  he  began  gravely,  "I  command  you 
to  tell  me  what  happened  to  you.  Tell  me  in- 
stantly." 

He  felt  paralyzed  with  fear  that  perhaps  some- 
thing even  worse  than  a  wounded  face  had  come 
to  her. 

"Tell  me,"  he  repeated. 

Tony  tried  to  shake  her  head,  but  the  hand 
clasped  about  her  chin  kept  it  steady. 


"Don't  Make  Me  TettJ"  155 

"Yes,  you  must,  Tony,"  went  on  Pendlehaven. 
"I  can  bear  anything  but  suspense.  If  I  knew,  I 
could  take  steps  to  punish  the  ruffian  who  dared  to 
do  this  thing." 

That  was  just  what  Tony  didn't  want.  Hadn't 
she  sworn  to  Edith  in  the  presence  of  the  infinite 
Christ,  that  good  Shepherd  who  had  given  up  His 
life  for  His  sheep,  that  no  matter  what  Uriah  did 
she  wouldn't  peach  on  him? 

The  tears  were  still  rolling  down  her  cheeks 
from  under  lowered  lids. 

"You  have  so  helped  me,  Tony,"  continued 
Pendlehaven,  "and  yet  you  refuse  to  let  me  do 
what  I  can." 

"It  ain't  that,  sir,"  breathed  Tonnibel.  "I'd 
love  to  tell  it,  but,  but  I " 

She  tried  to  think  of  something  to  comfort  him. 

"But  sometimes  daddies  and  husbands  beat 
their  women  folks,"  she  explained. 

"You  haven't  any  husband,  have  you,  Tony 
Devon?"  demanded  Pendlehaven. 

"Nope!"  sighed  Tony.  "Thankin'  the  good 
Goddy,  I  ain't." 


156     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Then  your  father  whipped  you"?"  quizzed  the 
doctor. 

"That  I  can't  tell,"  said  the  girl.  "Don't 
make  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  Lord}-,  I'm  all  tuckered  out." 

It  was  of  no  use  to  put  questions  any  more, 
thought  Pendlehaven.  He  was  persuaded  that  her 
father  had  done  this  dreadful  thing. 

"Take  a  drink  of  that  milk  on  the  table,"  lie 
said  gently.  "Then  go  to  bed." 

"I'd  rather  sit  here  beside  you,  sir,"  trembled 
Tony.  "I  just  want  to  be  glad  a  while  you  ain't 
lost  to  me." 

At  eight  o'clock,  when  Dr.  John  Pendlehaven 
softly  entered  the  sick  room  he  found  his  brother 
in  sound  slumber,  and  Tony  Devon,  her  face  dis- 
colored with  bruises,  fast  asleep  in  the  chair  by  the 
bedside. 

It  was  a  stubborn  Tony  that  faced  Dr.  John 
that  morning.  Adroitly  he  tried  to  draw  from  her 
the  reason  for  her  extreme  paleness,  for  the  dark 
marks  stretched  across  her  face,  and  the  meaning 
of  the  shudders  that  suddenly  attacked  her. 

"I  can't  tell,"  she  reiterated  in  distress  as  she 
had  to  his  brother.  "Please  don't  ask  me." 


"Don't  Make  Me  Tell!"  157 

That  her  mother  was  dead,  she  firmly  believed. 
This  she  did  tell  the  doctor  between  many  sobs 
and  tears. 

"I'll  never  see  her  ever  any  more,"  she  told 
him  tremulously.  "And  if  you'll  let  me,  I'll  live 
here  forever  and  forever  and  take  care  of  Dr. 
Paul." 

"My  brother  can't  get  along  without  you, 
dear,"  he  said  deeply  touched.  "If  you  had  seen 
how  he  grieved  last  night,  you  wouldn't  have 
made  that  remark." 

"I  know  he  likes  me,"  said  the  girl,  sighing, 
"and  I  love  him.  Why,  I  love  him " 

She  searched  the  man's  face  and  caught  his 
smile. 

"Better  than  3-011  do  me?"  he  came  in  with. 

"Yes,"  said  Tonnibel,  honestly,  "but  you 
next —  Then  she  thought  of  Philip,  of  the 

hours  he  had  held  her  against  his  breast,  of  the 
kiss  in  the  morning's  dawn,  and  she  fell  into  a 
bashful  silence. 

When  Dr.  Pendlehaven  told  Mrs.  Curtis  that 
Tony  had  returned,  her  face  drew  down  in  a 
sulky  frown. 


158     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pinet 

"But  we  needn't  care,"  Katherine  said  after- 
wards, "she  doesn't  bother  us  much.  For  my  part 
I  can't  see  how  Cousin  Paul  stands  her." 

"John  says  Paul  almost  died  last  night,"  took 
up  Mrs.  Curtis.  "I  suppose  she's  one  of  the  things 
we've  got  to  stand  in  a  house  run  by  an  old  bach- 
elor and  a  grieving  widower." 

"To  say  nothing  of  a  father  with  a  daughter 
lost  somewhere  in  the  world,"  supplemented 
Katherine. 

"There's  no  danger  of  Caroline's  returning 
after  all  these  years,"  said  Mrs.  Curtis.  "If — if 
— that  girl  hadn't  come,  Paul  wouldn't  have  lived 
long.  John  told  me  so  himself.  I  almost  hoped 
that " 

"That  he'd  die?"  interrupted  Katherine,  ma- 
liciously. "Well,  to  be  truthful  I  have  wished  it 
many  times.  Cousin  John  would  have  to  think  of 
somebody  else  then.  Perhaps  he'd  turn  his  atten- 
tion to  you,  mother  darling." 

"He  won't  while  Paul  lives,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Curtis.  "I  don't  know  just  what  to  do.  I've 
thought  of  every  conceivable  way  to  get  that  girl 


"'Don't  Make  Me  Tell!"  159 

out  of  the  house,  and  John  forestalls  me  every 
time." 

"I'm  glad  Philip  hasn't  seen  her,"  remarked 
Katherine.  "He's  just  the  religious  maudlin  kind 
who  would  fall  for  an  appealing  face  like  hers." 
Mrs.  Curtis  made  an  impatient  gesture,  and  Kath- 
erine proceeded,  "We  can't  deny  she  is  appealing, 
mamma,  even  if  we  hate  'er!  And  God  knows  I 
loathe  her  so  I  could  strangle  her  with  these  two 
hands."  She  held  up  clenched  fingers,  then  re- 
laxed them  and  laughed  bitterly.  "Heavens! 
What's  the  use  of  butting  our  heads  against  a 
stone  wall.  .  .  .  Give  me  a  cigarette,  my  dear 
Sarah.  Philip  won't  be  here  until  night,  and  I 
can  get  rid  of  the  odor  before  that." 

Meanwhile  upstairs  Tony  Devon  was  fast 
getting  back  to  her  normal  self.  The  blessed  as- 
surance she  had  had  that  she  was  needed  by  her 
sick  friend  lifted  her  spirits.  She  grieved  in- 
wardly for  her  mother  but  shuddered  when  she 
thought  of  her  father.  Now  all  ties  were  cut  be- 
tween them.  She  had  no  doubt  but  that  both 
Uriah  and  Reggie  thought  she  was  dead  in  the 


160     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

lake.  She  hoped  they  did !  She'd  never  see  either 
one  of  them  again. 

She  was  sitting  thinking  deeply  when  Paul 
Pendlehaven  spoke  to  her. 

"Little  dear,"  said  he,  reaching  out  his  hand 
toward  her,  "come  over  a  minute.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you !" 

Tonnibel  went  to  him  instantly  as  she  always 
did  when  he  called  her. 

"You  will  promise  me  something,"  he  insisted, 
as  his  hot  hand  clasped  hers. 

She  nodded  her  head  emphatically. 

"I  love  you  so  I'd  give  my  word  to  anything," 
she  murmured,  "and  once  I  heard  Love's  every- 
thing in  the  world.  Is  it?" 

Thrilled  to  the  depths  of  his  being,  Paul  re- 
turned softly: 

"Yes,  everything  and  everywhere.  But,  Tony, 
don't  go  out  again  like  you  did  yesterday.  I 
shan't  be  able  to  stand  it  if  you  do!''* 

Tonnibel's  mind  flashed  to  Philip.  She  felt 
sure  he  would  go  to  the  corner  of  the  lake  every 
day  to  meet  her  as  he  had  gone  to  the  canal  boat. 

Yet  as  she  gazed  into  the  imploring  eyes  of 


"Don't  Make  Me  Tell!"  161 

her  friend,  she  had  no  heart  to  deny  him  his  wish. 

"I'm  selfish  perhaps,"  the  man  went  on,  "but, 
Tony  dear,  if  you  want  to  go  out,  there's  lots  of 
cars  in  the  garage,  and  horses  in  the  stable.  Won't 
you  promise  me?" 

Tony  thrust  the  memory  of  Philip's  face  from 
her  mind.  She  put  the  wish  to  be  in  his  arms 
again,  to  feel  his  warm  lips  once  more  on  hers 
behind  her,  and  tremblingly  smiled  in  acquiesence. 

"I  promise,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  a  sob 
prevented  her  from  saying  anything  more. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    STONING 

SOME  days  later  Katherine  said  to  her  mother: 

"I  can't  see  what's  the  matter  with  Philip.  He 
doesn't  run  in  even  as  often  as  he  did  three  weeks 
ago,  and  he's  as  solemn  as  an  owl.  When  I  ask 
him  what's  troubling  him,  he  won't  say  a  word.  I 
suppose  the  souls  of  all  squatterdom  are  on  his 
shoulders.  What  a  miserable  fad  he's  struck  any- 
way." 

Mrs.  Curtis  tossed  her  head. 

"If  you  had  any  sisterly  affection,  you'd  be 
more  exercised  over  your  brother  than  over  a 
stranger,"  said  she. 

Katherine  blew  out  a  mouthful  of  smoke. 

"Oh,  Reggie's  like  a  bad  penny.  He'll  come 
back,  my  dear  Sarah,"  she  returned,  laughing. 

"You'll  remember,  Kathie,"  took  up  Mrs. 
Curtis,  presently,  "that  Reggie  hasn't  been  home 

162 


The  Stoning  163 

since  the  day  of  that  terrible  thunder-storm.  He 
might  be  dead!" 

"But  of  course  he  isn't,"  replied  the  girl,  con- 
temptuously. "This  isn't  the  first  time  he's  been 
away  from  home  days  at  a  time.  Just  when 
you're  not  looking  'for  him,  he'll  walk  in.  I 
wouldn't  worry  if  I  were  you."  And  saying  this 
she  went  out  of  the  room. 

Tony  Devon  almost  never  appeared  in  the 
northern  wing  of  the  house  now.  The  few  times 
she  had  been  there  had  made  her  very  uncom- 
fortable. She  only  felt  at  home  in  the  suite  of 
rooms  occupied  by  Paul  Pendlehaven,  which  she 
shared,  and  it  seemed  now  that  he  was  getting 
better  by  leaps  and  bounds.  Nearly  every  day  he 
was  up  for  hours  at  a  time,  while  Tonnibel  sat 
beside  him  and  read  aloud.  How  many  wonderful 
things  he  had  taught  her  since  she  had  been  with 
him!  And  how  much  he  had  enjoyed  the  teach- 
ing! He  was  fast  forgetting  his  sorrow  in  the 
building  of  a  girl's  soul,  in  the  forming  of  a  young 
mind  lively  with  hope  and  love.  It  was  as  Dr. 
John  had  said  to  his  cousin,  Mrs.  Curtis. 


The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Paul  wanted  something  to  do,  that's  all. 
Some  one  to  take  an  interest  in." 

"He  might  have  interested  himself  in  Reggie 
or  in  Katherine,"  she  replied  in  a  thin  piqued 
voice. 

Pendlehaven  flung  back  a  sharp  answer. 

"He  tried  that  long  ago  as  I  did,  Sarah,"  said 
he,  "but  you  know  very  well  that  when  Paul  got 
sick  neither  one  of  those  children  would  go  near 
him,  except  to  worry  him  for  money." 

"Children  aren't  usually  interested  in  a  sick 
room,"  interjected  the  mother,  in  excuse. 

"Tony  Devon  is,  though,"  thrust  back  the  man, 
"and  we've  to  thank  her  that  Paul  is  getting 
well." 

Mrs.  Curtis  dropped  her  flushed  face  over  her 
embroidery  work.  Never  had  she  heard  her  cousin 
speak  so  hopefully  of  his  brother. 

"I  thought  you  said  he  wouldn't  live  but  a  little 
while  only  a  short  time  ago,"  she  replied,  without 
raising  her  head. 

"So  I  did,"  was  the  response,  "but  that's  all 
changed  now.  He  will  get  well,  and  as  I  said 
before,  the  credit's  to  Tony  Devon." 


The  Stoning  165 

By  this  time  Philip's  visits  to  the  Pendlehaven 
home  had  fallen  off  in  such  an  alarming  manner 
that  Katherine  grew  thin  with  worry. 

"He's  probably  busy  at  the  Army  quarters, 
Kathie,"  Mrs.  Curtis  said  to  her  daughter  one 
day.  "He  telephones  in  quite  often." 

A  disconsolate  expression  settled  about  Kath- 
erine's  mouth. 

"A  man's  never  too  busy  to  see  a  girl  if  he 
really  wants  to,"  said  she,  "and  his  telephones 
don't  evidence  interest  in  me.  He  always  asks 
about  Reggie." 

"I  wonder  what  for,"  mused  Mrs.  Curtis.  "I 
wish  that  dear  child  would  come  home." 

"Don't  worry,  he  will  when  he  runs  out  of 
funds,"  returned  Katherine,  sneering.  "Oh! 
Lord,  what  a  hateful  world  this  is  anyway!" 

Never  before  since  he  had  taken  up  his  work 
of  redemption,  had  Philip  MacCauley  found  the 
hours  so  long  and  so  difficult  to  live  through.  Day 
after  day  he  canoed  to  the  place  Tony  had  prom- 
ised to  meet  him,  only  to  return  to  Ithaca  more 
at  sea  than  ever.  He  had  the  sickening  idea  that 
the  girl  he  had  grown  to  love  was  again  in  the 


166     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

clutches  of  her  brute  of  a  father  and  Reginald 
Brown.  This  thought  had  been  established  by  the 

J 

fact  that  the  latter  had  as  effectually  disappeared 
as  had  Tony  Devon. 

Tony,  too,  began  to  lose  the  high  spirits  that 
had  returned  almost  immediately  after  her  escape 
from  the  canal  boat.  The  gray  eyes  grew  darkly 
circled,  the  lovely  mouth  seemed  to  have  lost  the 
power  to  smile. 

Paul  Pendlehaven  noted  all  this  with  appre- 
hension. He  questioned  the  girl  time  after  time, 
asking  her  if  she  felt  well,  if  there  was  anything 
she  wanted,  but  she  always  replied  in  the  nega- 
tive. Finding  no  good  reason  for  the  gradual 
change  in  her,  the  doctor  came  to  a  sudden  reso- 
lution. 

One  day  after  they  had  had  their  dinner,  he 
sat  looking  at  her  curiously.  She  was  close  to 
the  window  reading  a  book,  when  he  caused  her  to 
look  up  by  calling  her  name. 

"Run  downstairs,  Tony  dear,"  he  went  on, 
"and  tell  my  brother  to  come  up  here  before  office 
hours,  will  you,  honey?" 

The  girl  rose,  laying  aside  her  book. 


The  Stoning  167 

She  dreaded  venturing  into  Mrs.  Curtis'  pres- 
ence and  shivered  when  she  remembered  the  crit- 
ical Katherine  who  looked  her  over  with  super- 
cilious toleration  whenever  they  happened  to 
meet.  But  she  made  no  complaint  and  went 
slowly  downstairs. 

The  dining  room  door  was  closed,  but  the  sound 
of  voices  from  within  told  her  the  family  was 
at  dinner.  She  opened  the  door  slowly  and 
stepped  inside.  For  one  moment  her  vision  was 
obscured  by  the  fright  that  suddenly  took  pos- 
session of  her.  As  the  blur  cleared  from  before 
her  eyes,  she  saw  John  Pendlehaven  smiling  at 
her.  Then  a  sharp  ejaculation  from  some  one  else 
swung  her  gaze  from  the  doctor's  face,  and  it  set- 
tled on — Philip  MacCauley. 

She  went  extremely  pale  and  put  out  her  hand 
to  grasp  something  for  support  as  if  she  were 
going  to  fall.  She  saw  him  rise  up  slowly,  an  ex- 
pression of  amazement  and  relief  going  across 
his  face.  She  smiled,  but  what  a  weary  little 
smile  it  was  and  how  full  of  pleading,  as  if  she 
were  silently  begging  him  to  forgive  her  for  some 
deed  she'd  done. 


168     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

John  Pendlehaven  gazed  at  the  two  young  peo- 
ple, and  then  he  too  got  to  his  feet. 

"Philip,"  he  said  abruptly,  "this  is  Tonnibel 
Devon.  She's  Paul's  companion.  We  have " 

Philip  interrupted  the  speaker  by  his  sudden 
bound  around  the  table.  Katherine  saw  the  light 
in  his  eyes,  and  the  brilliant  smile  which  she'd 
thought  gone  forever,  flash  across  his  face. 

"Tony  Devon,  little  Tony,"  he  cried.  "I 
thought,  oh,  I  thought  you  were  dead.  I  thought 
I'd  lost  you  forever." 

A  noise  fell  from  Katherine's  lips,  and  Mrs. 
Curtis  stumbled  to  her  feet. 

"So  you  know  her  too,  Philip,"  she  snarled 
with  a  hasty  glance  at  her  pallid  daughter.  "I 
thought  we'd  kept  her  well  out  of  your  way." 

She  was  so  angry  she  forgot  how  her  words 
sounded. 

Katherine  started  to  speak,  but  the  woman 
waved  her  to  silence. 

"So  you've  played  the  sneak  while  eating  bread 
and  butter  in  my  house,  miss,"  she  blurted  at 
Tony.  "Well,  it's  what  one  might  have  expected 
of  you — you  huzzy." 


The  Stoning  169 

"Mother!"  gasped  Katherine,  as  Tonnibel 
snatched  her  hands  from  Philip. 

"Kathie,  you  needn't  'mother'  me !"  cried  Mrs. 
Curtis,  blind  with  rage.  "Either  she  goes  away 
or  I  do.  I  won't  stay  in  the  house  with  a  common 
sneak — a  common " 

"Sarah,  sit  down,"  thundered  John  Pendleha- 
ven.  "Don't  speak  another  such  a  word  or " 

Tony  was  at  the  doctor's  side  before  he  could 
finish  his  threat. 

"I  didn't  sneak,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him, 
"oh,  please — please  believe  me." 

"That  she  didn't,"  cried  Philip,  coming  to  her 
side.  "Cousin  John,  I've  known  Tony  Devon 
ages,  and  I  didn't  even  know  she  was  in  this 
house."  He  turned  his  flashing  eyes  upon  Mrs. 
Curtis,  who  was  weeping  hysterically.  "You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Cousin  Sarah," 
he  went  on,  "to  use  such  language  to  a  perfectly 
nice  little  girl.  Why,  you've  just  about  broken 
her  heart." 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  passionate  whisper. 
His  eyes  misted  in  a  youthful  struggle  to  control 


170     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

his  joy,  and — and  at  the  sight  of  him,  Katherine 
lost  her  wits  entirely. 

"Who  and  what  have  we  been  harboring  in 
this  house,  Cousin  John*?"  she  shrieked  in  a  high 
thin  voice,  struggling  to  her  feet.  "A  gutter  rat, 
a  little  snake,  a  loose  girl " 

Each  word,  brought  out  with  greater  vehe- 
mence and  passion  than  the  one  before,  struck  the 
listeners  dumb.  In  shamed-faced  misery,  Tonni- 
bel  sank  to  the  floor,  dropping  her  head  into  her 
hands. 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not  that,"  she  wailed.  "My 
mummy  never  lived  in  the  gutter,  she  never  did, 
I  was  poor,  awful  poor " 

"Poor!"  exclaimed  Katherine,  "you're  worse 
than  poor.  I  suppose  you've  wheedled  Philip  the 
same  way  you  have  Cousin  Paul." 

"Katherine,  I  command  you  to  be  silent," 
shouted  Pendlehaven.  "If  you  say  another  word, 
I  shall  ask  you  to  leave  my  house." 

"Well,  I  never!"  screamed  Mrs.  Curtis. 

"And  you,  too,  Sarah,"  thrust  in  the  doctor. 
"We  don't  know  the  truth  of  this  thing,  but  I 


The  Stoning  171 

know  very  well  that  Tony  Devon  is  not  a  bad 
girl." 

"That  she  is  not,"  interjected  Philip.  "Now 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

As  John  Pendlehaven  raised  her  to  her  feet, 
Tonnibel  lifted  her  head  and  fixed  her  tearful 
eyes  on  Captain  MacCauley. 

"You  promised  you'd  never  tell  anybody,"  she 
murmured.  Her  mind  was  with  the  dead  Edith 
Devon,  and  the  words  of  her  own  serious  rever- 
ent oath  given  in  the  presence  of  her  wild-eyed 
mother  would  not  allow  her  to  consent  that  Philip 
should  lift  the  stigma  heaped  upon  her  by  the 
Curtis  women. 

"So  I  did,"  admitted  Philip,  soberly,  "but  you 
see  now  this  has  happened,  you  must  release  me 
from  that  promise." 

"I  can't,"  sighed  Tony.  Then  turned  her  face 
to  Pendlehaven. 

"You'll  trust  us,"  she  pleaded,  waving  her  hand 
toward  Philip.  "Please  trust  him  and  me." 

"Ha !"  shrieked  Mrs.  Curtis.    "Trust  you " 

"Shut  up,  Cousin  Sarah,"  snapped  Philip  at  the 
angry  woman.  Then  he  addressed  himself  to  the 


172     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

doctor.  "I  did  promise  her  I  wouldn't  tell  how 
we  met.  And  I  won't!  In  fact  it  isn't  any  one's 
business.  Is  it,  Cousin  John?" 

"Not  that  I  can  see,"  came  in  rather  drawling 
answer. 

"I'll  repeat  what  I  said  before,"  Philip  took  up 
hastily.  "I  didn't  know  she  lived  here." 

"We're  ready  to  believe  that — nit,"  cried  Kath- 
erine. 

Captain  MacCauley  stared  at  her.  Was  this 
frowning  angry  girl  the  smiling,  yielding  Kather- 
ine  he  had  known  or  thought  he  had  known  V 

"You  can  believe  it  or  not,  Kathie,"  he  told 
her  savagely.  "It  makes  no  difference  to  me. 
But  it's  true  just  the  same." 

"Wait  here  for  me,  Philip,"  said  the  doctor,  in 
a  low  tone.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  moment." 

Then  he  took  Tony  by  the  hand,  and  they  went 
out  together. 

For  several  tense  moments  a  silence  too  dread- 
ful to  describe  settled  down  upon  the  dining  room. 
Katherine  twisted  her  fork  sulkily,  and  Mrs. 
Curtis  still  sniffed  in  her  handkerchief. 

Philip  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  wishing 


The  Stoning 

with  all  his  heart  he  could  say  something  that 
would  clear  the  atmosphere. 

"I'm  sorry,  Cousin  Sarah,"  he  said  abruptly, 
trying  to  smile.  "It  certainly  was  awkward, 
wasn't  it*?" 

"Awkward,"  repeated  Mrs.  Curtis,  wrinkling 
her  face,  "awkward  isn't  the  word,  Philip.  It 
was  disgusting." 

The  gorge  rose  again  in  his  throat.  He  desired 
heartily  to  tell  the  austere  lady  the  part  her  son 
had  taken  with  Tony  Devon  the  night  of  the 
thunder-storm,  but  here  again  his  promise  to  the 
girl  loomed  up. 

"Sit  down  and  finish  your  dinner,  Philip," 
Mrs.  Curtis  broke  in  on  his  revery.  "You  needn't 
starve  because  of  a — a " 

But  Philip's  face  became  so  stormy,  the  speak- 
er dared  not  use  the  word  that  was  in  her  mind. 
The  boy's  anger  shot  suddenly  into  a  flame. 

"Tonnibel  Devon  is  the  best  girl  I  know,"  he 
asserted.  "Poor  little  thing,  I  pity  her  with  all 
my  heart." 

"Pity  is  akin  to  love,  my  dear  Philip,"  sneered 
Mrs.  Curtis. 


174     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Mother,"  cried  Katherine.  ''Philip  wouldn't 
so  far  forget  himself,  and  his  friends  and  position 
as  to  love — well — if  you  can't  keep  your  tongue 
still,  go  upstairs." 

This  was  another  shock  for  Philip.  That  any 
girl  could  speak  to  her  own  mother  in  such  a  way 
was  beyond  his  comprehension.  The  door  opened 
just  then,  and  Dr.  John  walked  in. 

"She  came  down  to  tell  me  that  Paul  wanted 
me  and  forgot  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "The 
poor  child  is  quite  overcome." 

Mrs.  Curtis  tossed  her  head  and  rose  from  the 
table,  and  Katherine,  rising  also,  followed  her 
mother  out  of  the  room. 

There  was  very  little  said  between  the  young 
man  and  his  older  friend  after  the  ladies  had 
taken  their  departure,  but  when  Captain  MacCau- 
ley  was  ready  to  leave,  he  looked  anxiously  at 
his  companion. 

"Cousin  John,"  he  murmured.  "You  won't  let 
any  one ' 

"Indeed  not,"  interrupted  the  doctor,  antici- 
pating the  lad's  plea.  "Tony  Devon  is  here  to 
stay,  Phil." 


The  Stoning  175 

"Could  I — could  I  see  her,  Cousin  John,  just  a 
minute?"  the  boy  faltered. 

"Not  to-night,  old  fellow,"  replied  the  doctor, 
kindly.  "To-morrow  perhaps." 

And  Philip  had  to  be  content. 

That  evening  Katherine  spent  with  her  mother 
in  hopeless  misery. 

"He  acted  just  as  if  he  loved  her,"  she  wailed 
at  one  time  in  their  conversation.  "I'd  give  any- 
thing to  find  out  how  long  he's  known  her." 

"So  would  I,"  said  Mrs.  Curtis.  "Katherine, 
we've  got  to  get  her  away  by  some  means.  She's 
bewitched  John — she's  brought  Paul  up  from  his 
grave — and  there's  no  telling,  she  may  usurp  your 
place  in  their  wills." 

"And  now  she's  hoodwinked  Philip,"  gulped 
Katherine.  "Can't  you  think  of  some  plan? 
Can't  we  claim  she  steals  or  something  like  that?" 

"John  wouldn't  believe  it,  especially  now  that 
Reggie  is  coming  home,"  was  the  answer.  "His 
letter  to-day  said  he'd  be  here  very  soon.  Every- 
thing that  happens  in  this  house  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary is  blamed  on  my  poor  boy."  And  she  began 
again  to  cry. 


176     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Great  Heavens,  mother,  don't  do  that," 
screamed  Katherine.  "Can't  you  see  weeping 
doesn't  do  any  good'?  You  make  me  so  nervous 
I  could  fly.  We've  got  to  make  some  plan  to  get 
her  out  of  here.  While  you're  sniveling  all  the 
time,  you  can't  think." 

Mrs.  Curtis  rose  and  walked  to  her  bedroom 
door. 

"My  children  have  no  sympathy  for  me  at  all," 
she  shot  back.  "But  you  say  I  can't  think  while  I 
cry*?  Well,  watch  me!  I'll  bet  you  five  dollars 
Tony  Devon  is  out  of  this  house  before  another 
week  is  over." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   GATHERING  OF   THE   CLAN 

THE  next  morning  when  Reggie  Brown  came 
home,  he  went  directly  to  his  mother.  Of  course 
as  usual  she  wept  at  the  sight  of  him  and  began 
to  upbraid  him  for  his  thoughtlessness.  Why 
hadn't  he  let  her  know  where  he  was?  Why  had 
he  been  gone  so  long? 

Reggie  laughed  insolently. 

"Do  I  ever  let  you  know  where  I  go,  mater?" 
he  demanded,  dropping  into  an  easy  chair.  "No, 
I  don't,  and  I  won't!  I've  come  for  the  five  hun- 
dred dollars  I  told  you  before  I  had  to  have.  Now 
cough  it  up." 

"I  haven't  that  much  money  in  the  world," 
sobbed  Mrs.  Curtis. 

"Then  wheedle  it  out  of  Cousin  John,"  he 
commanded.  "I've  simply  got  to  have  it!" 

"Oh,  the  trouble  this  house  is  in "  began 

Mrs.  Curtis. 

177 


178     The  Sluidow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Don't  heap  your  grizzles  on  me,"  interrupted 
Reginald.  "Get  the  money." 

Paying  no  heed  to  his  gruff  commands,  Mrs. 
Curtis  rocked  to  and  fro  in  excess  of  agony. 

"If  Paul  had  died,"  she  wept,  "we'd  have  had 
a  lot  of  money " 

"How  do  you  know*?"  was  Reggie's  quick 
query. 

"Because  I  know  how  his  will's  made,"  ex- 
plained his  mother,  "and  unless  his  Caroline  is 
found,  your  Cousin  John  and  I  get  all  his  money." 

Reginald's  eyes  blazed  into  a  flame  of  interest. 
Money  was  the  only  thing  that  attracted  him. 

"Why  doesn't  he  die  then?"  he  asked,  dropping 
back  sullenly.  "He's  old  enough  and  sick  enough, 
isn't  he?" 

"Because  he's  getting  well,"  replied  his  mother. 
"That  girl " 

"What  girl?"  Reggie's  voice  asked  the  question 
in  monotone. 

"Some  huzzy  John  picked  up  not  long  ago," 
was  the  reply.  "She's  brought  Paul  to  life,  and 
John  is  wild  about  her,  and  now— 

"\Vhere  is  she?"  interjected  Reginald. 


The  Gathering  of  the  Clan  179 

"With  your  Cousin  Paul.  And,  Reggie,  I'd 
give  five  hundred  to  get  her  out  of  the  house." 

The  boy  rose  and  stood  gazing  down  at  the 
tips  of  his  highly  polished  boots. 

"I'd  give  more  than  that,"  he  replied  solemnly, 
"to  know  Cousin  Paul  was  in  his  grave." 

"Then  rid  us  of  the  girl,  and  he'll  soon  keel 
over,"  said  the  mother.  "Why,  one  night  she 
went  away  and  didn't  come  back  until  morning, 
and  John  said  Paul  lost  in  health  in  those  few 
hours  all  he'd  gained  since  she's  been  here." 

But  Reginald  wasn't  interested  in  Cousin  Paul's 
new  companion.  He  wanted  money,  and  that 
was  all,  now  that  Tony  Devon  was  dead. 

"How  about  the  five  hundred  for  me?"  he 
questioned,  looking  at  her  keenly. 

"I've  said  I  hadn't  it,  my  son,"  said  she.  "Now 
run  away,  and  don't  bother  me  any  more." 

Reggie  did  leave  the  room  but  not  the  house. 
His  mind  was  filled  with  many  plans  to  get  hold 
of  the  cash  he  needed.  There  were  two  things  had 
to  be  done.  Whoever  the  girl  with  Cousin  Paul 
was,  she  had  to  go.  It  was  enough  that  his  mother 
didn't  want  her  in  the  house.  Reggie  could  abuse 


180     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

his  own  women  folks,  he  could  make  them  cry 
all  he  wanted  to,  but  that  any  one,  and  a  stranger 
too,  could  force  his  mother  into  spells  of  hysterics, 
he  wouldn't  tolerate. 

Then  the  other  thing  to  which  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  almost  brought  his  hair  on  end  when 
he  contemplated  it.  The  world  had  to  be  relieved 
of  Cousin  Paul. 

A  little  drop  of  something — Reggie  rose  to  his 
feet  and  walked  nervously  up  and  down  the  room. 
'Twould  be  easy  enough  to  get  hold  of,  for  Dr. 
John  always  had  plenty  of  drugs  on  hand. 
But  how  to  get  at  Cousin  Paul  and  serve  it  up 
in  a  manner  which  would  attach  no  blame  to  him- 
self!  After  his  cousin  was  dead,  he  could  adroit- 
ly drop  a  hint  that  the  young  stranger  had  com- 
mitted the  crime.  For  a  long  time  before  going 
down  town,  in  imagination  he  spent  in  riotous 
living  the  fortune  that  would  be  his  when  Paul 
was  out  of  his  way. 

That  afternoon  he  met  Captain  MacCauley  on 
State  Street.  The  sight  of  Reggie's  slim  swag- 
gering figure  brought  Philip  to  a  quick  decision. 
He  stepped  directly  in  front  of  Brown,  and,  as  it 


The  Gathering  of  the  Clan  181 

was  the  first  time  they'd  met  since  that  memorable 
moment  when  Reggie  had  been  flung  in  the  lake, 
they  looked  embarrassedly  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"So  you  decided  to  come  home1?"  asked  Philip, 
his  voice  sharply  toned. 

Reggie  gathered  together  his  courage  and  curled 
his  lips.  Why  should  he  be  afraid  of  a  Salvation 
Army  Captain  even  if  he  were  rich1? 

"It  looks  like  it,  doesn't  it?"  he  sneered.  "And 
it's  none  of  your  business  anyway." 

"It's  my  business  about  how  you  treat  Tony 
Devon,"  Philip  began,  but  Reggie's  fresh  outburst 
cut  off  his  words. 

"Nobody'll  ever  treat  her  any  way  after  this," 
he  almost  groaned.  "She's  dead,  drowned  in  the 
lake." 

A  horrified  expression  passed  over  Philip's  face. 
Then  he  realized  that  Reginald  didn't  know  of 
Tony  Devon's  presence  in  the  Pendlehaven  home. 

"She's  better  off  then  than  she  was  the  last  time 
you  saw  her,"  he  said  and  whirled  away. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Philip  was  talking  to 
John  Pendlehaven. 

"You  promised  last  night  I  could  see  her  to- 


182     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

day,"  he  pleaded.     "I'll  promise  only  to  stay  a 
few  minutes  if  I  may,  Cousin  John." 

Pendlehaven  considered  his  young  friend  a  mo- 
ment. 

"It's  all  so  mysterious,  Phil,"  he  returned  sol- 
emnly. 

"So  'tis,"  replied  the  boy,  "but  perhaps  the 
mystery  won't  last  long.  May  I  go  up*?" 

"No,  I'll  call  Tony  down,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
don't  want  Paul  disturbed  to-day." 

When  the  boy  and  girl  stood  facing  each  other, 
embarrassment  kept  them  silent  for  some  mo- 
ments. Philip  had  decided  to  find  out  whether 
Tony  knew  of  Reginald  Brown's  connection  with 
the  Pendlehavens,  although  he  was  positive  in  his 
own  mind  she  did  not. 

"It's  a  nice  day,"  he  blurted  out,  and  Tonni- 
bel's  low  "yes"  was  her  only  answer.  She  had 
come  to  him  shy  with  the  thought  of  renewing 
her  friendship  with  him.  How  pretty  she  looked, 
thought  Philip,  and  how  much  he  desired  to  kiss 
her  as  he  had  that  other  time  in  the  breaking 
dawn  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Cayuga. 


The  Gathering  of  the  Clan  183 

"Tony,"  he  said  huskily,  "don't  you — don't 
you — like  me  at  all4?" 

Tonnibel  opened  her  eyes  to  their  fullest  ex- 
tent. Why,  hadn't  she  kissed  him,  oh,  ever  so 

many  times  ?  No  girl  would  do  that She 

blushed  and  studied  the  tip  of  her  pretty  shoe. 

"Don't  you,  Tony,  or  if  you  don't,  couldn't 
you*?"  pleaded  the  boy. 

"I  like  you  heaps,"  she  breathed  with  sup- 
pressed emotion.  She  wanted  to  throw  her  arms 
about  him  right  then,  to  tell  him  how  she  had 
longed  to  be  with  him,  all  about  her  promise 
that  she  would  not  leave  the  house  again  without 
some  one  with  her.  She  was  considering  this 
when 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you — if  you've  seen  that  man 
again?"  said  Philip.  "The  one  I- 

"You  slung  in  the  lake*?"  interrupted  Tonni- 
bel, a  dimple  peeping  out  at  the  corner  of  her 
mouth.  "No,  never.  I  guess  old  Reggie  thinks 
I'm  dead,  don't  you?" 

Would  he  dare  tell  her  then  that  her  tormentor 
might  at  that  moment  be  in  the  same  house  with 
them1?  No!  She'd  run  away  in  fright,  for  he 


184     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

knew  how  she  held  Reginald  Brown  in  an  awe- 
some fear  even  more  than  any  one  else  in  the 
world. 

"I  saw  him  in  town  to-day,"  he  told  her  final- 
ly and  then  almost  cursed  himself  for  his  brutal- 
ity. She  had  gone  so  white  and  was  looking  about 
her  helplessly. 

''He'll  find  me,  mebbe,"  she  hesitated,  a  haunt- 
ed expression  coming  into  her  eyes.  "Mebbe  he 
will." 

"No,  he  won't,  not  if  you  let  me  help  you,"  ex- 
claimed Philip.  "Now  listen  to  me !  Don't  go 
out  of  Cousin  Paul's  rooms  tor  anything,  no  mat- 
ter what.  Call  a  servant  if  you  want  anything 
downstairs.  And  don't  leave  the  house  unless 
you  go  with  me." 

She  breathed  a  little  easier  and  tried  to  smile 
at  him.  But  her  lip  quivered,  and  Philip  drew  her 
to  him  gently. 

"Tony,"  he  implored,  "won't  you  let  me  tell 
Cousin  John  all  about  us,  about  this  Reggie — and, 
and  your  father,  too*?" 

Tony  buried  her  face  against  his  breast. 

"No,  no,"  she  shivered.     "Once  I  took  an  awful 


The  Gathering  of  the  Clan  185 

oath  about  my  daddy,  and  it's  all  so  mixed  up  I 
couldn't  speak  of  one  without  breakin'  it.  I 
can't!  I  can't! " 

"Then  never  mind,  dear,"  soothed  the  boy. 
"But  before  I  go,  I  want  your  promise  that  you 
will  not  come  downstairs.  Will  you  give  it  to 
me?' 

Tony  didn't  understand  why  she  should  prom- 
ise this,  and  a  whimsical  thought  came  into  her 
srm'nd  that  she  was  always  making  promises  to 
some  one,  but  she  couldn't  refuse  him,  and  Philip 
went  away  a  little  happier  and  feeling  much  more 
secure. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"i  LOVE  YOU  MORE'N  THE  WHOLE  WORLD!" 

ONE  late  afternoon  Philip  MacCauley  started 
for  the  Pendlehavens',  desirous  of  seeing  Tony 
Devon.  He  had  seen  Reginald  Brown  sitting  in 
the  Trumansburg  bus  as  it  rolled  through  State 
Street.  It  had  been  days  since  he'd  seen  Tony, 
but  he  knew  she  was  safe,  for  he  never  met  Dr. 
John  without  asking  after  her. 

{Catherine  saw  him  guiding  his  car  up  the  road- 
way and  ran  to  the  door  to  meet  him.  Her  smile 
was  especially  radiant,  for  she  had  begun  to  lose 
her  fear  about  Tonnibel's  influence  over  him.  As 
she  had  told  her  mother,  it  was  his  business  to 
look  after  the  poor  and  unfortunate,  and  she  had 
no  doubt  Philip  had  found  the  girl  in  some  kind 
of  an  evil  den. 

"Sit  down,  Phil,"  she  entreated.  "Mother's 
sick  to-day.  Reggie  almost  sets  her  into  fits." 

186 


ffl  Love  You  More'n  the  Whole  World"    187 

Philip  still  remained  standing. 

"And  you've  kept  away  so  much,  dear  boy," 
complained  the  girl,  "it  seems  you  don't  care  for 
us  any  more." 

"I  do,  though,  but  I've  been  busy,"  replied 
Philip,  not  able  to  think  of  any  other  excuse. 

"But  you've  always  been  busy,  more  or  less," 
the  girl  shot  back,  "and  yet  you  came.  Mother 
and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you. 
couldn't  have  been  very  much  interested  in — in — - 
Cousin  Paul's  protegee.  You  haven't  even  asked 
about  her." 

Katherine  afterwards  wondered  how  she  could 
have  so  far  forgotten  herself  as  to  say  this. 

Philip  coughed  embarrassedly,  then  laughed. 

"The  fact  is,  I  came  to  see  her  to-day,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Katherine  went  wax  white. 

"What  do  you  want  to  see  her  for*?"  she  asked 
sharply. 

"Oh,  just  to  talk  to  her,"  replied  MacCauley, 
awkwardly. 

Katherine  shook  her  head 

"I  don't  believe  you  can,"  she  protested  dubi- 


188     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

eusly.  "Cousin  John  won't  let  any  of  us  go  up 
to  Paul's  room,  and  she  never  comes  down  any 
more." 

"Where's  Reggie*?"  demanded  the  boy. 

""Oh,  he's  gone  to  Tnimansburg  to-day,"  an- 
swered Katherine,  listlessly.  "And  I'm  glad  of 
it.  I  wish  he'd  never  come  back.  He  keeps  moth- 
er in  tears  most  of  the  time  he's  here." 

"And  Cousin  John!  I  want  to  ask  him  if  I  can 
take  Miss  Devon " 

Katherine's  head  went  up  in  disdain. 

*'I  know  what  you  want  to  ask  him,"  she  in- 
terrupted tartly,  "but  you  needn't  waste  your 
sympathy  on  that  Devon  girl.  Cousin  John  has 
tried  to  get  her  out  in  the  car  several  times,  but 
she  shies  at  it  like  a  balky  horse.  I  think  she's 
pretty  well  off,  if  you  ask  me,  and  so  would  you 
If  you'd  seen  her  when  she  first  came  here.  Ac- 
tually barefooted  and  ragged!" 

Philip's  face  flushed;  he  too  remembered  the 
slender  bare  feet  and  the  shock  of  tangled  curly 
hair. 

''That's  nothing  against  her,"  he  replied  with 
stern  emphasis. 


"/  Love  You  More'n  the  Whole  World"    189 

"Perhaps  not,'*  answered  the  girl,  holding  her 
temper  as  well  as  she  could,  "It  wouldn't  be  to 
you  among  the  people  you  work  with,  but  to  have 
one  of  them  in  your  home  is  different.  But  mam- 
ma says " 

Before  she  could  tell  him  her  mother's  opin- 
ion, the  door  opened  and  Dr.  Pendlehaven  walked 
in. 

"Cousin  John,5*  said  Philip,  abruptly,  going  to 
him,  "may  I  take  Miss — Miss  Devon  out  for  a 
little  ride1?  I'll  promise  to  bring  her  back  in  an 
hour." 

The  doctor  looked  at  the  boy's  dark  pleading 
eyes,  looked  and  then  smiled. 

"Perhaps  you  won't  have  any  better  luck  than 
I  have  had,  son,"  he  answered  with  a  little  laugh. 
"I've  almost  been  down  on  my  knees  to  the  child, 
and  she  absolutely  refuses." 

"Mother's  dreadfully  against  her  riding  in  our 
car,  Cousin  John,"  Katherine  cried  in  thin, 
throaty  tones.  "The  thought  of  it  makes  her 
sick." 

"Your  mother's  not  really  sick,  my  dear  Kath- 
erine," the  doctor  asserted.  "Ah,  here  she  is. 


190     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Katherine  was  just  speaking  of  you,   my   dear 
Sarah." 

A  merry  twinkle  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  turned 
on  his  cousin. 

"Now  was  she?"  smirked  Mrs.  Curtis.  "Isn't 
it  nice  to  be  spoken  well  of  behind  one's  back*? 
Oh.  Cousin  John,  my  head  is  much  better.  .  .  . 
What  were  you  saying,  Kathie*?" 

Katherine  lifted  her  eyes,  slumbering  with  pas- 
sionate anger. 

"That  you  would  dislike  Cousin  Paul's — I 
mean  that  girl  up  there — taken  out  for  a  drive," 
replied  Katherine. 

Mrs.  Curtis  caught  her  daughter's  expression 
and  looked  at  Dr.  John,  then  at  Philip. 

"Well,  I  should  say  I  wouldn't  like  it,"  she 
ejaculated.  "There's  a  limit  to  all  things.  Per- 
haps for  Paul's  sake,  she  must  stay  for  a  while, 
but  as  I  said,  dear  Cousin  John,  there's  a  limit. 
What  in  the  world  would  the  neighbors  say  to 
such  an  outrage^" 

Dr.  Pendlehaven's  face  gathered  a  dark  look. 

"If  she'll  go  with  Philip,  Sarah,"  he  said,  "I 


"I  Love  You  More'n  the  Whole  World"    191 

wouldn't  give  a  hang  what  the  neighbors  said, 
They  could  like  it  or  lump  it,  I  wouldn't  mind. 
She's  refused  absolutely  to  go  with  me.  Come 
along  up,  Phil,  and  ask  her." 

"Cousin  John !"  cried  Mrs.  Curtis. 

"And,  oh,  Cousin  John,"  gasped  Katherine. 
But  the  doctor  was  too  angry  to  pay  any  heed  to 
them. 

"You  really  want  to  take  the  child,  my  ladl" 
he  asked,  smiling  at  MacCauley. 

"Yes,  do  let  me,"  blurted  the  boy.  "Let's  go 
up  now." 

They  had  no  more  than  closed  the  door  when 
Katherine  burst  into  tears,  and  Mrs.  Curtis 
plumped  down  into  a  chair  in  a  spell  of  hysterics. 

"The  little  trollop,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  I'd 
like " 

"I'd  like  to  kill  her,"  burst  forth  Katherine. 
"Mother,  if  you  don't  do  something  for  me,  I'll 
die.  Oh,  to  think  of  it,  he  takes  her  out  when 
he  could  take  me!  Oh,  God!  Oh,  dear  God, 
help  me!" 

Her  daughter's  terrible  outburst  brought  Mrs. 
Curtis  directly  out  of  herself. 


192     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

1  'Don't,  Kathie,"  she  said  in  a  whisper.  "I  real- 
ly had  no  idea  you  cared  for  him  so  much.  I  will 
help  you,  poor  dear.  John  shall  listen  to  me  this 
night,  he  certainly  shall." 

Meantime,  Tonnibel  looked  up  with  inquiring 
eyes  as  Dr.  Pendlehaven  walked  in.  He  hud 
closed  Philip  on  the  outside  cf  the  door. 

The  girl  gave  him  a  slight  smile.  She  wanted 
to  be  cheerful,  but  her  head  ached,  and  her  heart 
ached  worse.  The  doctor  c?me  forward  and  took 
hold  of  her  hand. 

fCPaul,"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  brother,  "could 
you  spare  our  little  girl  for  P.P.  hour?  I  want  her 
to  go  out." 

Tonnibel,  remembering  her  promise  to  Philip, 
rose  to  her  feet. 

rcl  don't  want  to,"  she  trembled.  "I'd  rather 
stay  here.  I'd  really  rather  stay  here." 

Pendlehaven  hid  the  smile  that  lurked  at  the 
comers  of  his  lips  by  turning  swiftly.  He  went 
to  the  door  and  opened  it,  and  Philip  walked  in. 

f'Here's  a  young  man,  Miss  Tony  Devon,"  he 
said,  laughing  at  the  sight  of  the  girl's  puzzled 


"I  Love  You  Morc'n  the  Whole  World"    193 

face,  "who  tells  me  he  wants  you  to  drive  with 
him.  Now,  what  do  you  say5?" 

"Say  yes,  darling  Tony,'"'  Philip  ejaculated 
with  sparkling  eyes. 

"Oh,  that's  how  the  land  lies,  is  it*?"  said 
Dr.  John  under  his  breath.  Then  aloud,  "I 
didn't  know  this  thing  had  gotten  to  the  'darling* 
point,  Philip." 

TonnibePs  face  grew  poppy  red,  and  she  stood 
with  her  eyes  cast  down  and  her  fingers  inter- 
locked nervously.  Oh!  how  she  wanted  to  go, 
now  her  boy  had  come  for  her.  Her  faith  in  him 
was  so  great  that  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  she 
could  be  in  any  danger  when  with  him,  but  she 
couldn't  have  spoken  to  have  saved  her  life.  Only 
her  loving  loyal  soul  cried  out  within  its  own  con- 
fines, sending  forth  a  fervent  petition. 

"Mebbe  just  around  the  corner,  dear  Goddy," 
she  prayed  inwardly.  "And  quicker'n  a  cat  can 
wink,  I'll  be  back.3' 

"You  will  go,  Tony?'  begged  Philip,  his  face 
very  red  from  John's  speech. 

"If — if "  the  girl  stammered. 

John  Pendlehaven  laughed. 


194     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"She  can  go,  can't  she,  Paul?"  he  asked.  "Phil 
will  take  good  care  of  her." 

Paul  Pendlehaven  smiled  and  sighed. 

"Of  course  she  can  go!  She  ought  to!"  he 
said.  "She  stays  in  too  close.  I've  told  her  that 
every  day.  Go  along,  little  maid,  but  come  back 
to  your  old  uncle  in  a  little  while." 

Philip  seized  her  hand  to  lead  her  away,  but 
Tony  turned  to  the  bed.  Then  she  stooped  and 
kissed  Paul  Pendlehaven  impulsively. 

"I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  "and  mebbe  it'll 
only  be  half  an  hour  before  I'm  back  to  you." 

Dr.  John  caught  her  by  the  arm  as  she  passed 
him. 

"You  show  partiality,  little  girl,"  he  said. 
"Why  should  my  brother  get  all  the  kisses'?" 

Tonnibel  searched  his  face  an  instant,  then  she 
flung  up  her  arms  and  clasped  his  neck. 

"I  love  you  heaps,  too,  and  I'm  awful  happy," 
she  murmured  in  his  ear. 

With  her  eyes  filled  with  burning  tears,  Kath- 
erine  watched  the  lad  she  loved  help  Tony  Devon 
into  his  large  touring  car,  and  with  a  passionate 
cry  she  saw  them  drive  away. 


"I  Love  You  Morc'n  the  Whole  World"    195 

For  many  minutes  after  the  car  started,  Philip 
paid  strict  attention  to  his  driving,  and  Tonnibel 
allowed  herself  the  luxury  of  taking  a  sidelong 
look  at  him  now  and  then. 

They  rushed  up  the  hill,  turned  into  the  campus 
and  out  the  shaded  road  toward  Forest  home. 
Once  within  sight  of  Beebe  Lake,  Captain  Mac- 
Cauley  slowed  down  and  stopped. 

"God,  how  I've  prayed  for  this  minute,"  he 
exclaimed,  turning  on  her  suddenly. 

"I  have  too,"  said  Tonnibel  in  a  shy  sweet 
Toice,  "I  thought  you'd  forgotten  about  me." 

"Why,  I  couldn't  do  my  work  half  way  well, 
I've  thought  about  you  so  much,"  cried  the  boy, 
"and  I've  been  planning  a  lot  for  you  and  me. 
You  see,  Dr.  John  is  a  sort  of  a  guardian  to 
me,  and  next  year  I'll  be  twenty-three.  Then  I 
have  all  my  own  money.  I  can  get  married  thea 
if  I  want  to." 

"Oh,"  said  Tonnibel,  in  a  queer  little  voice. 

"Yes,  I  believe  in  early  marriages,"  Philip 
went  on  emphatically.  "Wasn't  it  a  queer  thing 
that  all  the  while  I  was  haunting  the  shore,  you 


196     The  Shadow  o;  ike  Sheltering  Pines 

were  in  the  house,  my  house  almost'?  You  see, 
I  live  just  next  door  to  you." 

"Oh!"  Tony  said  again.  Something  had  hurt 
her  dreadfully.  Something  he  had  said.  He 
might  be  married  next  year,  and  of  course  it 
would  be  to  Katherine. 

"And  time  and  again  ]  heard  how  much  some 
i:ttle  girl  was  helping  Dr  Paul,"  he  went  on, 
"but  somehow  I  never  heard  your  name  and 

hadn't  the  least  idea '  He  stopped.  Then 

he  slipped  his  arm  about  hei,  "I  didn't  know  she 
was  my  little  girl,"  he  finished. 

Tony  closed  her  eyes !  All  the  unhappiness  of 
the  past  weeks  left  her  that  moment  like  a  van- 
ished burden.  He  had  said  she  was  his  little  girl. 
How  very  lovely  the  world  was !  And  how  her 
heart  sang  when  only  a  minute  or  so  before  it 
had  hurt  dreadfully. 

"Lean  against  me,  dear,"  murmured  Philip. 
"And  this  time — Oh,  Tony,  don't  leave  me  to-day 
without  telling  me  you  love  me  a  lot." 

Tony  glimpsed  him  with  one  little  upward 
glance.  Her  eyes  were  star-bright. 


"I  Love  You  More'n  the  Whole  World"    197 

"I  love  you  more'n  the  whole  world,"  she  trem- 
bled. "More'n  I  know  how  to  tell." 

It  isn't  any  one's  affair  just  how  many  times 
Philip  made  Tony  tell  him  she'd  marry  him,  nor 
is  it  any  one's  affair  how  many  times  he  kissed 
her,  but  it  is  our  business  to  listen  to  Philip's  con- 
clusion. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  Cousin  John  and  Cousin 
Paul  to-night  that  we're  going  to  be  married,"  he 
said,  and  Tonnibel  had  no  inclination  to  forbid 
him. 

With  dark  thoughts  Katherine  was  watching 
for  them  to  come  back  again.  She  saw  the  happy 
shining  face  of  the  girl,  saw  Philip  lift  the  little 
figure  from  the  car,  and  draw  her  up  the  steps. 
Her  teeth  came  together  in  sharp  misery  as  she 
turned  from  the  window  and  went  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A     LITTLE    DROP    OF    SOMETHING 

REGINALD  was  sitting  in  his  mother's  room  that 
evening  when  his  sister  opened  the  door  and  en- 
tered. The  girl  looked  about  for  Mrs.  Curtis, 
then  picked  up  a  cigarette  and  lit  it.  She  was  so 
white  and  drawn  looking  that  her  brother  stared 
at  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  sis?"  he  asked  with  no 
particular  interest  in  his  voice. 

"I  hate  everybody  in  the  world,"  snapped  the 
girl. 

"Whew!     That's  some  hate,"  laughed  Reggie. 

Katherine  threw  herself  down  on  the  divan. 

"Worst  of  any  one  I  hate  Paul  Pendlehaven 
and  next,  well,  next  I  hate  Cousin  John,'*  she 
said  between  her  teeth. 

"What  have  my  beloved  cousins  done  now  that 
displeases  you,  fair  maiden?"  demanded  Reggie, 
leering  at  her. 

198 


A  Little  Drop  of  Something        199 

"They're  hateful  and  wicked,"  replied  the  girl, 
savagely.  "I  wish,  oh,  how  I  wish  Paul  would 
die  to-night.  I'd  almost  like  to  kill  him  myself." 
"He  must  have  done  something  pretty  bad  to 
make  you  talk  like  that,"  remarked  her  brother, 
growing  grave. 

"He  has.  If  it  weren't  for  him,  we'd  all  have 
•money,  and  if  it  weren't  for  that  girl  with  him, 
ibc'd  die." 

"So  the  mater  told  me  the  other  day,"  was 
Reggie's  answer. 

"Have  you  seen  her*?"  asked  Katherine. 
"No,  not  a  glimpse,"  responded  Reggie.     "And 
>[  don't  want  to.     The  mater  says  she  came  here 
•agged  and  quite  ugly." 

"I  hate  her,  too,"  said  Katherine,  low-toned. 
"You're  everlasting  busy  with  your  hating, 
iren't  you?"  teased  Reginald.  "Well,  I  might 
heer  you  up  a  little  if  I  told  you  that  perhaps 
»efore  long  your  illustrious  Cousin  Paul  will  be 
uder  the  sod." 

The  girl  sat  up  and  stared  at  him. 
"Don't  be  a  fool,  Reggie,"  she  said  with  a  sneer. 
'Cousin  John  says  Paul  will  be  able  to  go  out  of 


200     The  Shadow  o]  tine  Sheltering  Pines 

the  house  very  soon,  that  by  next  week  he  can 
go  anywhere  he  likes." 

Reginald  got  up  lazily.  He  said  something 
under  his  breath  that  made  his  sister  struggle  to 
her  feet.  She  stood  a  moment  and  gazed  with 
startled  eyes  at  the  door  that  had  closed  Reggie 
on  the  other  side  of  it. 

"Now,  what'd  he  mean  by  that'?"  she  wondered 
dully.  "What  did  he  mean  by  saying  that  if  he 
could  help  it,  Cousin  Paul  would  never  drive 
again.  I  wonder  just  what  he  meant  by  that!" 

Reggie  knew  what  he  meant  by  his  words  if 
Katherine  didn't.  He  intended  to  put  Dr.  Paul 
out  of  the  way,  thus  helping  his  mother  as  well 
as  himself.  It  would  be  easy  to  steal  into  Dr. 
John's  office  and  filch  a  handful  of  little  pills 
that  would  turn  the  trick  before  morning.  He 
wanted  to  get  away  from  Ithaca,  to  leave  the 
town  that  always  put  him  in  mind  of  Tonnibel 
Devon.  He  tried  in  vain  to  keep  his  thoughts 
from  the  girl's  death;  he  feared  he  would  go  mad 
unless  a  radical  change  came  into  his  life.  The 
least  wind  that  blew  brought  back  the  awful  mo- 
ment when  he  and  Devon  had  discovered  the  girl 


A  Little  Drop  of  Something        201 

had  drowned  herself,  and  because  of  his  torment- 
ing conscience,  he  drank  more  heavily  every  day. 
After  leaving  his  sister,  he  went  to  his  room  where 
he  filled  himself  up  with  brandy.  The  drunker 
he  got,  the  more  dim  grew  the  picture  of  Tony's 
pale,  terrified  face. 

He  slept  soddenly  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  only 
awoke  when  a  servant  rapped  at  the  door  and  told 
him  dinner  was  ready.  He  was  too  ill  to  get  up 
and  lay  staring  hopelessly  about  the  room.  So 
muddled  was  his  brain  that  for  a  short  time  he 
made  no  effort  to  sequence  his  thoughts.  Then 
suddenly  out  of  the  shadows  in  the  corner,  floated 
Tonnibel  Devon.  His  common  sense,  what  little 
he  had  left,  told  him  the  spirits  of  the  dead  could 
not  leave  a  higher  plane  and  haunt  the  earth. 

Yet — yet He  groaned  and  turned  slowly  in 

the  bed.  Instead  of  getting  better,  he  was  getting 
worse.  The  ghost  of  Devon's  daughter  was 
haunting  him  in  every  one  of  his  sober  hours.  He 
hated  Ithaca  and  every  one  in  it.  If  Dr.  Paul 
were  dead 

He  sat  up,  his  head  whirling.  He  crawled  to 
the  floor,  went  to  the  bathroom  and  soaked  his 


202     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

head  in  cold  water.  Then  he  sent  a  servant  for  a 
pot  of  strong  coffee. 

So  happy  was  Dr.  Paul  to  have  Tonnibcl 
back  that  he  insisted  on  sitting  up  to  eat  his  din- 
ner. 

"It  was  a  long  hour,  my  dear,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"but  I'm  glad  you  went  out.  You  must  have 
known  Philip  very  well  for  him  to — 

"I  knew  him  some,"  interrupted  Tony,  noncom- 
mittedly. 

Her  voice  had  a  touch  of  finality  in  it,  and  that, 
added  to  the  times  both  he  and  his  brother  had 
tried  to  get  her  to  tell  something  of  her  experi- 
ences, sent  Dr.  Paul  to  silence  for  a  while. 

"He's  a  nice  fellow,  Philip  is,"  he  broke  forth 
after  a  time. 

"He  is  so,"  was  all  the  girl  said. 

"My  brother  and  I  have  often  wished  our  young 
cousin  would  pattern  after  Phil,"  the  doctor  con- 
tinued, "but  it  does  seem  as  if  nothing  can  be  done 
with  him.  Even  his  mother  has  no  influence  over 
kirn." 

"I've  never  seen  him,"  stated  Tonnibel. 

"He's  scarcely  ever  at  home,"   answered   Dr. 


r     A  Little  Drop  of  Something        208 

Paul,  "and  the  worst  of  it  is,  he  gives  no  explana- 
tion as  to  where  he  goes." 

Then  after  dinner  as  usual  Tonnibel,  with  Gus- 
sie  Piglet  in  her  arms,  read  from  the  Bible.  She 
was  beginning  to  read  very  nicely  by  this  time, 
and  Paul  Pendlehaven  decided  that  the  hours 
spent  listening  to  the  musical  voice  and  gazing 
at  the  fair  expressive  young  face  bent  reverently 
over  the  holy  book,  were  the  happiest  of  his  day. 

The  clock  struck  ten  when  she  arose  softly 
and  began  to  prepare  for  the  night.  By  the  even 
breathing  of  the  man  on  the  bed,  she  knew  he  was 
asleep,  and  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  she  crept  about 
softly  so  as  not  to  arouse  him.  The  suite  directly 
back  of  Paul  Pendlehaven's  had  been  given  to  her. 
She  went  into  her  bedroom  and  made  ready  to  re- 
tire. Then  over  her  night  robe,  she  drew  a  light 
kimono. 

The  night  outside  was  a  little  stormy,  a  straight 
rain  falling  through  the  branches  of  the  trees. 
She  turned  off  the  electric  switch  and  stood  near 
the  window  looking  out.  She  didn't  want  to  go 
to  sleep  just  then;  she  did  not  want  to  lose  her 
happiness  in  oblivion.  Her  heart  sang  with  glad- 


204     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

ness.  She  had  but  to  hearken  back  to  the  afternoon 
to  hear  a  dear  voice  telling  her  of  a  great  love, 
love  for  her,  Tonnibel  Devon.  How  very  much 
she  had  to  be  thankful  for!  Her  two  strong 
friends,  and  this  wonderful  new  love  of  Philip 
MacCaulcy's !  Nothing  could  have  added  to  her 
supreme  content  but  some  knowledge  of  her  be- 
loved mother,  how  she  had  died  or  whether  she 
really  was  dead  or  not. 

Suddenly  she  saw  the  tall  tree  directly  in  front 
of  Dr.  Paul's  room  shake  as  if  a  giant  hand 
were  clutching  at  its  roots.  How  could  that  be1? 
There  wasn't  any  wind,  not  even  a  breeze.  Her 
heart  jumped  into  her  throat,  as  she  crept  away 
from  the  window  and  back  into  Pendlehaven's 
room.  The  little  night  lamp  glimmered  dimly 
above  the  small  table  with  its  load  of  medicine 
glasses.  She  stood  in  the  shadow  and  peered 
through  the  screen.  There  among  the  dripping 
branches  was  the  quiet  figure  of  a  man. 

Shivers  ran  over  her  from  head  to  foot.  She 
pictured  all  sorts  of  things.  Her  mind  went  im- 
mediately to  her  father,  but  she  put  the  thought 


A  Little  Drop  of  Something        205 

of  him  away,  for  the  form  in  the  tree  was  much 
more  slender  than  Uriah  Devon's. 

Dr.  Pendlehaven  still  slept,  his  face  turned 
towards  the  wall,  and  Tonnibel  squatted  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  keeping  the  dark  figure  in 
the  tree  in  the  line  of  her  vision.  The  clock  ticked 
off  the  minutes,  and  the  striking  of  its  chimes  told 
her  it  was  half  past  eleven.  Not  a  sign  or  move- 
ment came  from  the  man  outside,  but  Tony  knew 
he  was  there,  for  his  body  was  still  a  black  blot  in 
the  tree. 

She  dared  not  leave  the  room,  nor  dared  she  call 
out.  She  could  only  pray  passionately  that 
strength  would  be  given  her  to  protect  the  dear 
man  sleeping  on  the  bed.  How  often  Dr.  John 
had  told  her  that  his  brother  must  be  kept  free 
from  shocks  of  every  kind.  For  another  ten  min- 
utes she  leaned  her  chin  on  her  hand,  still  keeping 
her  eyes  on  the  window.  Then  she  saw  the  flut- 
ter of  a  wistaria  branch  against  the  screen  and 
knew  that  the  hour  had  come.  Another  tense  si- 
lence for  several  minutes,  then  a  little  scraping 
sound  as  if  a  sharp  instrument  was  moving  over 
wire.  Some  one  was  trying  to  get  in.  Tonnibel 


206     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

crawled  forward  on  her  knees  until  she  was  di- 
rectly in  front  of  Dr.  Paul. 

She  sank  back  against  the  bed  and  waited. 

The  scraping  sound  at  length  ceased.  This 
time  the  silence  was  of  such  duration,  Tony 
thought  she  would  scream  if  something  didn't 
happen.  Perhaps  she  would  if  it  did — no,  she 
wouldn't!  Dr.  Paul  might  die  if  he  were  sud- 
denly aroused  by  such  a  thing. 

With  a  forward  shove  of  her  head,  Tonnibel 
saw  that  the  wire  netting  had  been  ripped  fully 
a  foot,  and  then  she  saw  a  hand  move  little  by 
little  through  the  opening,  until  a  long  arm  was 
fully  inside  the  room.  Tony  watched  it,  fasci- 
nated. Then  she  saw  it  waver  toward  the  table, 
pause,  open  and  lay  some  little  pellets  down  with- 
out a  sound.  Then  long  white  fingers  drew  off 
the  covers  of  the  glasses  noiselessly  and  picked 
up  the  pellets  one  after  another  and  dropped  them 
silently  into  the  medicine.  As  quietly  the  covers 
were  restored,  and  the  arm  slowly  withdrawn. 
Directly  beneath  the  window,  Tonnibel  rose  up. 

There  through  the  faint  light  she  was  staring 
into  the  face  of  Reginald  Brown.  Instantly  she 


A  Little  Drop  of  Something        207 

recognized  him,  and  all  the  terror  of  that  day 
when  he  and  her  brutal  father  had  placed  a  men- 
acing shadow  over  her,  swept  her  nearly  off  her 
feet.  Reginald  was  crouched  on  the  broad  win- 
dow sill,  and  for  a  moment  their  faces  were  sep- 
arated but  by  the  wire  screening.  He  had  come 
not  only  to  harm  Paul  Pendlehaven  but  to  get 
her! 

"Stand  by  Salvation  of  the  Lord,"  shot  across 
her  tortured  soul,  and  then  through  the  break 
in  the  wire  netting  she  thrust  her  clenched  fist. 
Reginald  took  the  blow  she  gave  him  without 
an  audible  sound  and  fell  backward  into  the  gar- 
den below.  He  was  paralyzed  by  the  blazing  eyes 
and  the  memory  that  the  body  of  the  ghost-girl 
was  somewhere  beneath  the  broad  surface  of  Lake 
Cayuga. 

Tonnibel  heard  him  land  on  the  soft  grass,  and 
I  for  a  few  seconds  she  stood  panting  against  the 
window.  Then  she  withdrew  her  arm,  and 
crouched  down  on  the  floor. 

What  had  her  father's  pal  put  in  Dr.  Paul's 

:  medicine"?     Minute  by  minute  she  became  more 

acutely  sure  that  no  good  had  been  intended.    Si- 


208     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

lently  she  took  up  the  glasses  and  carried  them  to 
her  own  room.  Then  she  slipped  out  into  the 
hall,  ran  along  the  corridor  and  rapped  softly  on 
John  Pencil ehaven's  apartments.  Twice  she  re- 
peated her  summons  in  nervous  little  rap-taps 
that  penetrated  Dr.  John's  sound  slumber.  When 
he  recognized  her,  opened  the  door  and  noticed 
how  white  she  was,  he  drew  her  instantly  to  him 
and  shut  the  door. 

"My  brother,"  he  said,  almost  overcome. 

"He's  all  right,"  breathed  Tonnibel,  faintly, 
"but  something  awful's  happened." 

Between  chattering  teeth,  she  began  to  tell  him 
the  dreadful  tale.  As  she  went  on  with  the  story, 
the  listener's  face  grew  much  concerned. 

"Somebody's  tried  to  poison  him,"  he  cried, 
taking  a  long  breath.  "My  God,  who  could  be  so 
damnable  as  that?  Come,  let  me  get  the  stuff." 

Together  they  stole  back  to  Tonnibel's  room, 
and  Dr.  John  carried  away  the  medicine  with 
him,  leaving  Tony  with  a  caution  not  to  speak 
of  the  matter  to  his  brother.  Putting  on  his 
clothes,  John  went  outside  and  made  a  tour  of  the 
house.  It  wasn't  difficult  to  find  the  place  where 


A  Little  Drop  of  Something       209 

the  man  had  fallen,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  him 
anywhere. 

Tonnibel  did  not  sleep  at  all  that  night.  But 
very  early  in  the  morning  she  arose  and  slipped 
into  Dr.  Paul's  room  and  put  back  the  medicine 
Dr.  John  had  given  her.  He  was  still  breath- 
ing evenly,  and  with  eyes  misty  with  tears  she 
stood  looking  down  upon  him.  Then  she  stole 
to  the  window  and  slipped  her  fingers  through 
the  screen.  Without  making  any  noise,  she 
broke  off  several  large  bunches  of  wistaria  that 
bloomed  against  the  house.  These  she  heaped  to- 
gether, and  was  holding  them  in  her  hand  when 
Pendlehaven  opened  his  eyes. 

"Tony,"  he  said  softly. 

"Yes,  I'm  here,"  was  all  she  could  force  her- 
self to  say. 

"What  have  you  there?"  asked  Dr.  Paul,  smil- 
ing at  her. 

She  made  a  backward  bend  of  her  head  and  re- 
plied: 

"Mebbe  I  did  something  awful.  Mebbe  you'll 
scold  me,  but  the  flowers  were  so  pretty  outside 


210     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

the  window,  I  just  dug  a  hole  in  the  screen  and 
pulled  them  in  for  you." 

Dr.  Paul  laughed. 

"Child,  dear,"  he  answered,  "what  a  wonderful 
soul  you  have  in  that  pretty  body  of  yours.  As  if 
cutting  a  screen  amounted  to  anything  when  love 
dictated  it!  The  flowers  are  very  beautiful !" 

"I  thought  you'd  like  'em,"  murmured  Tonni- 
bel,  lamely. 

Later,  alone  by  herself,  Tony  Devon  felt 
crushed  with  shame.  She  had  told  a  barefaced  lie 
to  her  best  friend. 

"I'd  rather  have  cut  my  big  toe  off  than  have 
storied  to  him,"  she  groaned,  under  her  breath. 
"I  guess  there's  nothin'  but  hell-fire  for  a  bad  kid 
like  me." 

During  the  morning,  Dr.  John  Pendlehaven 
softly  entered  her  room.  He  came  forward,  his 
hands  outstretched,  his  face  white  and  very  grave. 

"Darling  little  girl,"  he  whispered,  with  much 
emotion.  "You  have  saved  my  brother's  life. 
The  villain,  whoever  he  was,  put  the  rankest  kind 
of  poison  in  it.  He  must  have  gotten  it  from 


A  Little  Drop  of  Something        211 

some  doctor,  for  no  druggist  would  have  sold  it  to 
him." 

"Mebbe  he's  dead,"  replied  Tony,  gently,  with 
an  expression  of  awe.  "It  was  a  long  tumble  he 
took." 

"No,  he  got  away !  I've  hunted  the  place  over 
for  him.  Would  you  know  him  again  if  you  saw 
;  him?" 

"Sure,"  replied  Tony,  nodding,  but  she  said  no 
more.  To  tell  him  who  the  man  was,  would  mean 
to  break  the  solemn  oath  she  had  made  on  the 
Christ  to  her  mother.  That  would  set  the  cops 
on  her  father,  too.  So,  "Sure"  she  repeated  in 
confusion.  It  seemed  at  that  moment  as  if  she 
was  compelled  to  deceive  everybody  she  loved 
to  protect  those  she  didn't  love. 

A  timid  knock  brought  the  conversation  to  a 
close.  Mrs.  Curtis  was  at  the  threshold  when 
Pendlehaven  opened  the  door. 

"I've  been  looking  the  house  over  for  you, 
John,"  she  began.  "Boy's  got  a  headache!  He 
said  for  you  not  to  bother  to  come  to  him,  but 
to  give  me  something  to  make  him  sleep." 

"Is  he  drunk*?"  demanded  Pendlehaven. 


212     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Mrs.  Curtis  began  to  cry. 

"John,  how  unkind!"  she  sniffled  from  the  ha- 
ven of  her  handkerchief.  "The  moment  the  child 
complains  everybody  accuses  him  of  drinking. 
No,  of  course,  he  isn't  drunk." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

URIAH   "GOES  AWAY" 

FOR  many  days  Reginald  Curtis  tossed  fitfully 
in  bed,  tortured  by  the  thought  that  he  would 
never  cease  being  haunted  by  Tony  Devon's  spir- 
it. He  dared  not  get  up,  for  he  was  covered  with 
bruises  from  his  fall,  and  added  to  his  misery, 
he  imagined  every  time  the  door  opened  he  was 
going  to  be  arrested.  But  no  such  thing  hap- 
pened, and  one  afternoon  when  Dr.  John  was 
2;one,  and  his  mother  and  Katherine  were  shop- 
ping down  town,  he  crawled  out  of  bed  and  made 
iis  way  softly  from  the  house. 

Uriah  Devon  had  ventured  back  to  the  Hog- 
lole  with  his  canal  boat,  so  when  Reginald  ap- 
peared aboard  her,  Devon  met  him  with  a  growl. 

"Where  in  hell  you  been  all  this  time,  Rege?" 
ic  demanded  in  a  sinister  tone. 

Reggie  shuddered,  as  he  sank  down  on  the 
oench. 

213 


214     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"I'm  going  crazy,"  he  muttered.  "I've  been 
awful  sick." 

"How  sick?"  Uriah  inquired  with  a  scornful 
grunt.  "You  mean  just  drunk,  don't  you? 
Didn't  you  try  doin'  what  I  told  you  to?" 

The  boy  nodded  and  shivered  again. 

"I  sure  did,  but,  but " 

"But  what?"  cried  Devon. 

"I  put  the  stuff  in  the  medicine  all  right,  but 
something  happened."  Reginald's  voice  was  low 
and  wavering  as  he  finished  the  statement. 

"What  happened?"  repeated  Devon,  hoarsely. 
"God,  don't  sit  there  like  a  damned  fool,  and 
look  as  if  you'd  swallowed  a  live  eel." 

Reginald  shook  himself  dismally. 

"I  climbed  up  all  right '  He  shuddered 

in  memory. 

Uriah  leaned  over  and  grasped  his  compan- 
ion's arm. 

"Damn  your  hide!"  he  ejaculated.  "Yap  out 
what  happened  after  you  slung  the  stuff  in  the 
medicine?" 

"I  was  going  to  slip  back  from  the  window  sill 
to  the  tree^"  faltered  Reggie,  "and  Tony's  ghoet 


Uriah  "Goes  Away"  215 

rose  up  before  me  and  shoved  me  clean  off  the 
ledge  and  down  to  the  ground." 

Uriah's  eyes  almost  protruded  from  his  head. 
Then  a  slow  smile  ran  around  his  lips. 

"Rats!"  he  ejaculated  huskily.  "Rats,  you 
'ool !  There  ain't  such  things  as  ghosts." 

"Yes,  there  is,  Devon,"  insisted  Reggie,  in  a 
Ireary  monotone.  "I've  seen  one!  I've  seen 
Tony,  I  say,  and  many  a  time  she's  come  so  close 
o  my  eyes  I  could  have  touched  her  if  she  could 
tave  been  touched.  The  fall  made  me  sick.  I've 
>een  in  bed  ever  since." 

"And  your  cousin's  still  alive,  eh1?"  Uriah's 
oice  had  a  snarl  in  it. 

"Still  alive,"  muttered  Reggie. 

"What  you  goin'  to  do  about  it  now*?"  de- 
landed  Devon.  "Try  it  again"?" 

Brown  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  yet,  Riah,"  he  muttered.  "Not  just 
et.  I  can't." 

"You  got  to  get  me  a  lot  of  money  some  way," 
>evon  came  in  with.  "I've  got  to  get  out  of  this 
mntry,  or  I'll  be  hooked  to  jail  if  those  Syra- 
ise  folks  find  me." 


216     The  Shadow  of  the  Shdlcriny  Pines 

"Mother  said  she'd  try  my  cousin  Paul,"  Regi- 
nald told  the  other  man,  wearily.  "He's  getting 
better,  and  perhaps  he'll  give  us  some  cash." 

"You  look  like  a  string  of  suckers,"  meditated 
Devon.  "You'd  better  be  getting  home  and  back 
to  bed.  Best  take  a  stiff  swig  too  to  settle  your 
nerves." 

He  watched  the  tall  thin  boy  walk  slowly  away 
in  deep  meditation.  Then  he  laughed  and  went 
below  to  the  cabin. 

Almost  a  week  after  Reggie's  futile  attempt  to 
poison  his  Cousin  Paul,  Tony  Devon  was  sitting 
in  her  room,  reading,  when  a  servant  appeared 
and  told  her  some  one  wanted  to  see  her  down- 
stairs. Her  heart  bounded  with  delight,  for  she 
was  sure  Philip  had  come  again  and  had  sent  for 
her.  She  rushed  to  the  glass,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  rosy  face,  pushed  back  a  few  stray  curl? 
and  went  downstairs  to  the  drawing  room. 

As  she  stepped  inside,  she  came  to  a  sudden  ter- 
rified halt.  Her  father  was  seated  in  a  large 

chair,  and  his  eyes,  red  and  swollen,   were  cen- 
tered upon  her.      Then  he  smiled,   that   wicked 


Uriah  "Goes  Away"  217 

mile  that  always  widened  his  thick  lips  when  he 
lad  succeeded  in  some  evil  thing. 

"Hello,  Tony,"  he  chuckled.  "You've  made 
i  fine  nest  for  yourself,  huh'?" 

Tony  only  stared  at  him.  She  felt  suffocated 
>y  his  sudden  appearance. 

"I  came  to  talk  to  you,  kid,"  he  said,  the  whee- 
ile  coming  into  his  tones  that  always  augured 
ad  for  the  person  addressed.  "Sit  down." 

Tonnibel  sat,  not  because  he  told  her  to,  but 
ecause  she  couldn't  stand  on  her  trembling  legs. 

"You  don't  appear  to  be  very  tickled  to  see 
our  old  dad,"  he  threw  at  her,  a  frown  wrink- 
ng  his  face.  "Get  up  and  come  over  here."  His 
icked  eyes  seemed  to  be  swallowing  her  whole. 
A  fact  Devon  could  not  make  himself  believe 
ids  beautiful  creature  was  the  Tony  who,  he 
lought,  had  been  drowned  in  the  lake.  He  felt 
snew  sensation  within  him  as  his  gaze  took  in 
eery  line  of  the  lovely  figure. 

"Come  over  here,"  he  said  once  more,  "and 
til  me  how  you  got  out  of  the  lake  that  night, 
lid  you  swim  ashore?" 

Tonnibel  shook  her  head. 


218     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  anything,"  she  mur- 
mured, almost  inaudibly. 

"Well,  keep  it  to  yourself,  then,"  snapped 
Uriah.  "When  I  get  you  back  to  the  'Dirty 
Mary'  I  know  ways  which'll  bring  out  of  you 
what  I  want  to  know.  So  get  your  things  and 
come  along  home." 

Tonnibel  felt  as  if  the  bottom  had  fallen  out 
of  the  world.  Then  a  boy's  smile,  and  a  boy's 
words,  "Salvation,  little  Tony,  is  always  at  hand, 
for  God  is  good,"  seemed  to  stripe  both  her  vi- 
sion and  hearing. 

Tony  believed  every  word  Philip  MacCauley 
uttered.  He  couldn't  speak  an  untruth  if  he  tried. 
If  as  he  had  said  Salvation  was  at  hand,  then  she 
could  be  saved  at  that  moment. 

"I'm  busy  here,  daddy,"  she  managed  to  say. 
"I'm  doin'  some  nursing,  so  I  can't  get  away  just 
now!" 

"You'll  come  just  the  same,"  replied  Devon, 
getting  to  his  feet. 

"Divine  Love  is  everywhere,"  flashed  through 
Tony's  mind  as  she  too  struggled  up.  She  dared 
not  scream,  and  even  if  she  did,  there  was  no  one 


Uriah  "Goes  Away"  219 

in  the  house  who  would  help  her.  Mrs.  Curtis 
and  her  daughter  would  be  delighted  to  have  her 
gone,  and  Dr.  John  was  out  among  his  patients. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  escape  for  her  now.  She 
dared  not  appeal  to  the  weak,  sick  man  up- 
stairs. 

Thinking  of  him  made  her  blurt  out: 
"Did  you  send  that  awful  Brown  feller  here  to 
put  poison  in  Dr.  Paul's  medicine1?" 

Uriah  glared  at  her,  went  white  and  put  his 
hand  on  a  chair  to  steady  himself. 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  about  any  man  or  any 
ooison,"  he  growled.  "You'd  better  be  comin' 
ilong  now." 

"  'Twas  the  man  you  said  I  had  to  link  up 
vith.     He  used  to  come  to  the  'Dirty  Mary,'  ' 
ixplained  Tonnibel,  seeing  her  words  had  fright- 
ned  her  father.     "I  bet  you  sent  him  here." 

"Keep  your  clack  shut,"  growled  Devon,  just 
s  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Curtis  entered, 
'ony  whirled  and  faced  her,  although  she  didn't 
,.ive  the  courage  to  utter  a  word.  The  woman 
loked  from  the  girl's  agitated  face  to  Devon's, 
<iestioningly. 


220     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"This  is  my  kid,  ma'am,''  said  Uriah,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  toward  Tony.  "I've  come  to 
take  her  home." 

By  the  greatest  effort  Mrs.  Curtis  crushed 
down  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

''Oh,  very  well,"  she  replied.  "I  suppose  my 
Cousin  Paul  will  have  to  get  along  without  her. 
Are  you  going  to  take  her  to-day?" 

"Yep,"  snarled  Devon.  "Now!  Get  your 
duds,  brat!" 

Tonnibel  turned  as  if  to  obey,  and  Mrs.  Curtis 
caught  her  arm. 

"Go  as  you  are,"  she  directed,  "I'll  send  your 
things  after  you." 

Tony's  eyes  gathered  a  belligerent  expression. 

"I  wron't  go  without  saying  good-by  to 
Cousin  Paul,"  she  began. 

"If  she  gets  up  there  once,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Curtis,  in  an  undertone  to  Uriah  Devon,  "Von 
won't  see  her  again." 

Tonnibel  had  heard  the  words  and  knew  they 
were  true.  If  she  could  get  upstairs  with  Dr. 
Paul  and  then  lock  the  door,  no  one  would  dare 
venture  after  her. 


Uriah  "Goes  Away"  221 

Devon  saw  swift  intelligence  light  up  her  face. 
He  didn't  intend  to  allow  her  out  of  his  sight. 
He  caught  at  her  roughly  as  Mrs.  Curtis  barred 
her  flight  to  the  door. 

"Go  with  your  father  instantly,  you  bad  girl," 
that  lady  flared.  "You  never  were  wanted  here." 

Because  Tony  knew  the  insulting  words  were 
a  lie,  and  at  the  moment  forgot  Philip's  assurance 
of  her  safety,  she  struck  out  at  the  man  and 
woman  with  clenched  fists. 

"Let  me  alone,  I  say,"  she  cried.  "Let  me 
alone." 

LIriah  snatched  her  hands,  and  Mrs.  Curtis 
buried  her  fingers  in  the  dark  curls.  As  Tonnibel 
cried  out  again,  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and 
John  Pendlehaven  walked  into  the  room.  LTriah 
dropped  the  girl's  hands,  and  Mrs.  Curtis  fell 
back  with  a  startled  ejaculation. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  questioned  Dr. 
John. 

"My  father's  here,"  said  Tony,  her  voice  break- 
ing. 

"Her  father,  Cousin  John,"  Mrs.  Curtis  re- 
peated. 


2*22     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

A  sharp  glance  silenced  the  frightened  lady, 
and  Pendlehaven  looked  back  at  Tonnibel  Devon. 

''What  does  he  want  here?"  he  asked  of  her. 

"I've  come  for  my  girl,  mister,"  said  Uriah, 
plucking  up  his  courage. 

"And  she,"  Pendlehaven  kept  his  eyes  on  Ton- 
nibel, "does  she  want  to  go  with  you?" 

"Whether  she  wants  to  go  or  not,  she  will," 
ejaculated  the  other  man.  "Nobody  can  keep  a 
kid  from  her  own  father,  I'm  a  guessin'." 

"Tony,  child,"  broke  forth  Dr.  John,  "don't 
look  so  frightened.  No  one's  going  to  hurt  you 
while  you're  with  me.  Come  here,  my  dear." 

His  voice  was  so  low,  so  tender  that  Mrs.  Curtis 
ground  her  teeth  in  rage,  and  Uriah  Devon  felt 
his  power  ebbing  away. 

Tonnibel  walked  swiftly  to  Dr.  John's  side 
and  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 

"Those  two  said  I  couldn't  even  say  good-by 

to — to "  She  bowed  her  head  against  the 

kindly  arm  that  supported  her  and  for  a  moment 
was  so  agitated  she  could  not  proceed. 

"Hush,  dear,"  pleaded  Pendlehaven.  "Kii^i! 
Do  you  want  to  stav  hen1?" 


Uriah  "Goes  Away"  223 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  sir,  I  do,  indeed,  sir!"  she  cried. 
-But— but- 

"Then  you'll  stay,"  the  doctor  toid  her  in  a 
voice  low-pitched  and  stern.  "If  your  father 
thinks " 

"I'm  goin'  to  have  my  girl,"  gritted  Uriah. 

"Then  you  have  the  law  at  your  hand  to  use, 
Mr.  Devon,"  returned  the  doctor,  "and  you, 
Sarah,  I'll  ask  you  to  attend  to  your  own  af- 
fairs after  this." 

"But,  Cousin  John,"  argued  Mrs.  Curtis,  "she's 
the  man's  own  child.  Surely  he  has  a  right  to — 

A  sound  of  a  bell  pealing  through  the  house  cut 
off  her  words.  Then  came  heavy  footsteps  in  the 
hall.  Before  any  one  could  figure  on  the  cause 
of  this  commotion,  the  door  burst  open  and  sev- 
eral uniformed  men  came  in.  When  Uriah  De- 
von caught  sight  of  them,  he  made  a  dash  for  the 
window,  but  two  heavy  officers  were  on  him  be- 
fore he  was  half  way  across  the  room.  It  took  but 
a  few  minutes  for  the  officials  to  explain  to  Dr. 
Pendlehaven  that  they  had  been  trailing  Devon 


22J*     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

for  a  long  time,  that  he  was  wanted  for  a  crime 
in  Syracuse. 

When  they  were  leading  him  out  manacled  and 
deeply  enraged,  he  turned  on  Tonnibel. 

"I'll  get  even  with  you,  miss,"  he  snapped  at 
her,  his  eyes  full  of  hate,  "and  I'll  get  even  with 
you  too,  mister."  He  threw  the  last  half  of  his 
sentence  at  Dr.  John,  whose  only  reply  was  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

During  the  struggle  between  the  detectives  and 
Uriah  Devon,  Mrs.  Curtis  had  clutched  at  Pen- 
dlehaven's  neck,  but  he  had  cast  her  off  without 
ceremony.  Now  the  three  were  alone,  Tonnibel, 
palpitating  and  fearful,  Mrs.  Curtis,  sobbing  on 
the  floor,  and  Dr.  John,  looking  at  her  sternly. 

"Sarah,"  he  said  haughtily,  "I  saw  the  dis- 
graceful way  you  were  pulling  this  child's  hair 
when  I  came  in,  and  at  last,  much  as  I  dislike  do- 
ing it,  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  my  house." 

"Leave?"  Mrs.  Curtis  screamed.  "Where 
would  I  go1?  I  haven't  a  place  in  the  world  but 
this." 

A  careless  gesture  from  Dr.  John  told  Ton- 
nibel that  that  fact  didn't  interest  him.  She 


Uriah  "Goes  Away"  225 

slipped  her  hand  into  his.  Lifting  eyes  that  were 
troubled  and  dark-circled,  she  begged: 

"Let  'er  stay,  Cousin  John.  Mebbe  she  didn't 
know  my  daddy  would  have  killed  me  if  he'd 
got  me  back  to  the  'Dirty  Mary.'  ' 

Pendlehaven  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  with 
a  ring  of  fierceness  in  his  voice,  said : 

"There,  Sarah,  there's  pity  for  you.  If  you 
stay,  it's  because  Tony  Devon  pleads  for  you,  not 
because  I  have  any  sense  of  duty  towards  you.  I 
hope  you  feel  properly  grateful." 

There  was  a  touch  of  malicious  triumph  as  he 
finished  speaking.  The  lady,  overcome  with  hum- 
bled pride  and  anger,  gathered  herself  up. 

"It's  positively  wicked,  John  Pendlehaven," 
she  cried,  "the  way  you  treat  your  own  flesh  and 
blood." 

The  doctor  strode  to  the  door,  opened  it  and 
motioned  for  her  to  be  gone.  Then  weeping,  she 
clattered  away,  her  sobs  audible  even  after  the 
door  was  closed. 

For  a  few  moments  Tony  Devon  wept  silently 
in  John  Pendlehaven's  arms. 

"Oh,  it's  awful  to  have  daddy  taken  away  to 


226     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

jail,"  she  moaned,  "but  he  won't  be  good,  he  just 
won't!" 

"You're  much  better  off  to  have  him  away,  lit- 
tle girl,"  soothed  Pendlehaven,  "for  that  will  give 
my  brother  and  me  a  chance  to  do  something  for 
you.  Come  along,  and  we'll  go  up  and  talk  it  over 
with  him,  only — only  we  won't  mention  your 
father  having  been  here." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

GOOD    FOR    EVIL 

THAT  night  for  dinner,  five  people  sat  about 
the  Pendlehaven  table.  Reggie,  pale  and  miser- 
able looking,  sat  next  to  his  mother,  and  Philip 
MacCauley  was  opposite  Dr.  John.  Katherine, 
silent  and  morose,  was  at  her  own  place.  She 
had  heard  her  mother's  version  of  the  after- 
noon's happening  in  amazement  and  anger,  and  it 
only  added  to  her  discontent  to  hear  Cousin  John 
tell  the  tale  to  Philip. 

"Sarah  thinks,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "that  we 
should  have  tamely  given  her  up  without  a  word 
to — to  that  brute!" 

"I  can't  see  how  you  can  keep  a  man's  child 
from  him,  Cousin  John,"  excused  Mrs.  Curtis,  a 
dull  red  mounting  to  each  high  cheek  bone. 

Pendlehaven  laughed. 

"She  wouldn't  have  been  much  use  to  him  in 
prison,  my  dear  Sarah,"  was  his  answer. 

227 


228     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"What're  you  talking  about?"  demanded  Reg- 
gie, turning  red  rimmed  eyes  on  his  mother. 

"Your  Cousin  John  insists  on  keeping  the 
daughter  of  a  man  named  Devon  in  the  house 
here  when  her  father  wants  her  home,"  she  re- 
plied. 

Reggie's  face  grew  a  misty  gray. 

"Devon,"  he  repeated  mechanically.  "I  didn't 
know  we  had  any  such  girl  here!" 

"She's  always  with  Cousin  Paul,"  remarked 
Katherine,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Philip.  "It 
does  seem  satisfying,  though,  to  know  who  she  is. 
Mother  says  she  comes  of  common  stock." 

MacCauley's  face  grew  dark,  and  Pendlehaven 
cast  a  glance  of  anger  at  his  young  cousin. 

"Both  Kathie  and  I,"  began  Mrs.  Curtis. 
"Why,  Reggie,  my  darling,  I  never  saw  you  look 
so  sick  in  my  life !" 

"Aw,  cut  it !"  growled  the  boy,  unsteadily. 
"Tell  me  what  became  of  the  girl's  father." 

"He's  going  to  jail  for  a  nice  long  rest,"  inter- 
jected Pendlehaven.  "It  seems  he  was  mixed  up 
in  a  theft  in  Syracuse." 

Reginald  got  up  from  the  table. 


Good  for  Evil  229 

"I  don't  want  anything  more  to  eat,"  he 
growled,  as  his  mother  started  to  remonstrate 
with  him.  "I'm  going  to  bed." 

When  he  got  upstairs,  he  looked  at  himself  in 
the  glass.  How  white  and  thin  he  had  grown ! 
He  looked  as  if  he  had  died  and  was  trying  to 
come  to  life  again.  He  was  frightened  almost  out 
of  his  wits  too.  Then  Tonnibel  Devon  was  in  the 
house.  It  hadn't  been  her  ghost  that  had  thrown 
him  bodily  from  the  window  sill  after  all.  Uriah, 
knowing  that,  had  come  and  made  a  demand  for 
his  daughter  and  had  been  arrested.  Perhaps  he 
would  be  arrested  also,  and  for  a  crime  worse 
than  stealing.  Had  the  girl  mentioned  the  fact 
of  his  trying  to  poison  Paul  Pendlehaven'?  If  she 
hadn't,  would  she?  When  Mrs.  Curtis  came  in  to 
ask  how  he  felt,  he  was  crumpled  in  a  big  chair, 
shaking  as  if  he  had  been  attacked  with  ague. 

"My  goodness,  Reggie,  you  look  awful,"  she 
said,  coming  to  his  side.  "Tell  me,  child,  what's 
the  matter4?" 

"There's  matter  enough,"  faltered  the  boy.  "If 
you  don't  want  me  arrested  like  that  man  to-day, 
then  give  me  some  money  to  get  out  with." 


230     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pints 

Mrs.  Curtis  began  to  cry  and  wring  her  hands. 

"What  have  you  been  doing,  Reggie V"  .-he 
whispered. 

''Getting  into  scrapes  most  ol  the  time,''  said 
he.  "In  nearly  all  I've  managed  to  wriggle  out, 
but.  there's  one  worse  than  Devon's,  and  they'll 
pinch  me  sure." 

He  dropped  his  head,  and  for  a  moment  she 
stood  staring  at  him.  Then  her  mother-heart  re- 
laxed, and  she  sank  beside  his  chair. 

"Darling,"  she  crooned,  "darling  boy,  go  to 
your  Cousin  John  and  tell  him  all  about  it.  He 
will  forgive  you  and  help  you " 

The  boy  bounded  up,  maddened  beyond  endur- 
ance. 

"Great  God,"  he  cried,  "he'd  box  me  up  for 
ten  years!  No.  no.  you've  got  to  help  me  get 
away  from  Ithaca.  I  must  have  money!" 

"Wait,"  said  Mrs.  Curtis,  and  she  hurried  from 
the  room. 

When  she  appeared  before  Dr.  John  in  hi^ 
office,  he  arose  hastily. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sarah?"  he  asked. 
"John."  she  entreated,   forgetting  to  raise  her 


Good  for  Evil  231 

handkerchief  to  wipe   away   her  tears,    "I   must 
have  some  money  to-night.    A  lot  of  it!" 

"For  Reggie?"  boomed  forth  Pendlehaven. 

"Yes,  he's  sick,  and  I  want  to  send  him  away, 
John.  Oh !  You  can't  refuse  me  this,  you  simply 
can't." 

"Going  away  doesn't  seem  to  help  your  son 
any,  as  I  see,"  answered  the  doctor.  "He  might 
better  stay  home.  Wait  till  I  tell  you  something, 
Sarah,"  he  went  on  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  to 
stop  her  plea.  "You  are  ruining  that  boy.  Three- 
quarters  of  the  time  you  don't  know  where  he  is, 
and  he  drinks  like  a  fish." 

The  woman  knew  what  her  cousin  said  was 
true;  but  the  money  she  had  to  have.  Yet  she 
dared  not  confess  what  made  it  necessary. 

"But  this  time,  John,"  she  wept  brokenly, 
"he'll  go  to  a  place  I  send  him.  He's  promised 
he  would.  John,  you  must  help  me." 

Pendlehaven  sat  down  and  took  up  the  book  he 
had  been  reading. 

"I  refuse  to  hand  out  any  more  money  for  that 
boy,"  said  he.  "Let  him  stay  home  awhile,  Sarah, 
and  see  how  that  works  out.  .  .  .  No,  no, 


•J.32     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

there's  no  use  of  your  begging  me,  I  refuse 
absolutely." 

Mrs.  Curtis  fled  away  almost  distracted.  If  she 
should  see  her  son  taken  to  prison  like  Devon  had 
been  that  afternoon,  it  would  kill  her.  And  how 
could  she  face  him  without  a  means  to  help  him 
escape !  If  she  could  only  gain  admission  to 
Cousin  Paul !  He  had  always  been  the  more  ten- 
der-hearted of  the  two. 

For  a  while  she  walked  up  and  down  her  room, 
wringing  her  hands.  She  was  in  a  state  of  terrible 
anxiety  when  Katherine  came  in. 

"He's  got  to  go,"  repeated  Mrs.  Curtis,  after 
she  had  told  the  whole  story  to  her  daughter. 
"Fie  says  he'll  be  arrested  if  he  doesn't  and  has 
made  me  promise  not  to  tell  John.  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  get  to  Paul." 

"No  one  but  that  girl  is  allowed  near  him." 
flashed  back  Katherine. 

"By  John's  orders,"  supplemented  Mrs.  Curtis. 

Katherine's  lip  curled. 

"Then  why  not  appeal  to  her,  mamma"?  Per- 
haps she'd  reach  the  ears  of  his  majesty,  the  Lord 
Almighty,"  said  she. 


Good  for  Evil  233 

"Oh,  Kathie,  don't  be  horrid,"  sobbed  her 
mother.  "You  know  very  well  I  couldn't  ask  him 
through  her." 

"Then  what  will  you  do?"  demanded  the  girl. 
"You  say  Cousin  John  won't  help  Rege,  and  you 
refuse  to  ask  the  girl  to  ask  Cousin  Paul.  Then 
what  will  you  do?" 

"You  ask  her,  Kathie,"  said  Mrs.  Curtis,  in 
coaxing  tones. 

Katherine  tossed  her  head. 

"You've  got  a  nerve  to  send  me  to  her  for  any- 
thing," she  shot  back.  "I  will  not!" 

Mrs.  Curtis  came  forward  with  trembling 
footsteps. 

"Not  for  your  brother's  sake?  Oh,  Kathie. 
do!" 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  the  girl.  "So  just  don't 
ask  me.  Reggie's  not  my  son,  and  I  haven't  any 
sympathy  for  him."  With  that  she  made  for  the 
door  and  was  gone. 

For  over  an  hour  the  anguished  mother  walked 
up  and  down.  Then  as  if  she  had  at  last  reached 
a  conclusion,  she  went  to  the  servants'  quarters. 

°re  she  sent  the  maid  to  ask  Tonnibel  to  come 


234     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

out    to   Dr.    Paul's    conservatory    for    a    minute. 

Tony  silently  stared  at  the  white  woman  when 
they  came  face  to  face.  Mrs.  Curtis  swallowed 
her  pride,  gulping  at  the  lumps  that  rose  in  her 
throat. 

'Tin  sorry  about  this  afternoon,  Miss  Devon," 
she  said.  "I  really  didn't  understand." 

Tonnibel  thought  in  a  flash  that  Mrs.  Curtis 
must  have  gotten  religion;  nothing  but  a  soften- 
ing of  heart  could  account  for  the  apology. 

"Never  mind,"  she  choked.  "I'm  awfully  sorry 
about  my  daddy,  but  if  he  will  be  bad,  then  I 
suppose  he  must  go  to  jail." 

This  statement  renewed  the  dread  in  Mrs.  Cur- 
tis' heart  about  her  son. 

"Could  you  take  a  message  to  my  Cousin  Paul 
for  me"?"  she  ventured. 

"What  is  itw?"  asked  Tonnibel,  thickly. 

"My  son  is  ill,"  Mrs.  Curtis  explained  tear- 
fully, "and  he  must  go  away.  I  haven't,  any 
money,  but  if  Paul  knew  about  it  he'd  help  me. 
Will  you  ask  him'?" 

Tony  thought  a  minute. 


Good  for  Evil  235 

"Not  to-night!"  she  replied.  "Mebbe  Dr. 
John " 

"No,  he  hates  my  son,"  the  other  cried  pas- 
sionately. "Oh,  you  mustn't  say  anything  to  him 
about  it." 

Tonnibel  Devon  was  awfully  tempted  to  refuse 
the  haughty  woman  who  had  pulled  her  around 
by  the  hair  only  that  afternoon.  But  she  remem- 
bered Philip,  remembered  his  love  for  her,  and 
relented. 

"Come  along  back  to-morrow  morning,  and 
mebbe  I  can  get  you  some,"  she  answered,  walking 
away.  Then  over  her  shoulder  she  flung  back, 
"I'll  try  anyhow." 

With  this  last  statement  Mrs.  Curtis  had  to  be 
satisfied.  Reggie  suffered  dreadfully  the  night 
through,  his  mother  sitting  at  his  bedside.  Tony 
Devon  also  had  been  awake  most  of  the  night.  In 
the  morning  after  breakfast,  she  set  about  gather- 
ing courage  to  approach  Dr.  Paul. 

With  Gussie  Piglet  in  her  arms,  she  sat  down 
beside  him,  and  now  the  minute  was  there  to 
speak,  Tony  didn't  know  how  to  begin.  But  to 


236     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

begin  meant  to  begin,  Tony  had  learned,  so  she 
coughed  and  blurted : 

"Your  cousin,  Mrs.  Curtis,  is  kind  of  pretty, 
ain't  she?" 

"She  would  be  if  she  didn't  cry  so  much," 
responded  Dr.  Paul. 

This  gave  Tony  the  opening  she  wanted. 

"Her  boy's  awful  sick,  so  she  says,"  she  broke 
out,  "that's  why  she  cries.  Poor  woman,  her  heart 
hurts  her." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him*?"  asked  Paul, 
almost  without  interest. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Tony,  shaking  her 
head.  "But  if  he  don't  go  away,  he'll  die,  mebbe." 

The  lovely  gray  eyes  grew  darker  as  they 
searched  his,  and  Dr.  Paul  leaned  over  and 
looked  keenly  at  her. 

"Did  Cousin  Sarah  ask  you  to  come  to  me,  little 
girl*?"  he  questioned  in  a  kindly  tone. 

Tonnibel  nodded. 

"She  says  Dr.  John  don't  like  her  boy,  and 
mebbe  you'd  help  her,"  said  the  girl,  blushing. 

The  man  considered  the  red  face  a  moment. 

"Would  it  please  you  to  have  me  help  her  and 


Good  for  Evil  23T 

him1?"  he  then  queried.  "I  should  think  you'd  be 
the  last  person  to  ask  that.  My  brother  told  me 
she's  always  very  unkind  to  you." 

"She  don't  know  any  better,"  replied  Tony. 
"She's  never  learned  what  lovin'  awful  hard 
means,  and  mebbe  she's  so  worried  over  her  boy 
she's  got  to  be  horrid  to  some  one." 

Paul  Pendlehaven  laughed,  then  he  grew 
grave. 

"John  and  I've  done  all  we  could  for  that  boy," 
he  said.  "He  drinks  and " 

"And  he  won't  ever  stay  home,"  interjected 
Tony.  "I've  never  seen  him  once  since  I've  been 
here.  But  I  guess  he  can't  help  bein'  bad  some- 
times." 

"Perhaps  that's  it,"  returned  Pendlehaven. 
"Now  do  you  think  you  could  find  my  cousin  and 
bring  her  here?" 

Tonnibel  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"She  might  make  you  nervous,"  she  said 
dubiously. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  replied  the  doctor,  smiling. 
"I'm  so  much  better.  We  won't  speak  of  this  to 
John,  and  I  won't  get  nervous."  He  made  the 


The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

hist  promise  because  the  girl's  face  was  troubled 
and  anxious. 

"Then  cross  your  heart  and  hope  to  die  if  you 
let  that  damn  woman  get  you  to  bed  again,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  'Scuse,  please,  I  didn't  mean  to 
swear !" 

Again  Pendlehaven  laughed.  This  trite  child 
with  her  mixture  of  religion  and  profanity  amused 
him  hugely. 

"I  promised  you,  didn't  I'?"  he  remarked. 
"Now  run  for  her  like  a  good  girl.  Can't  you  see 
how  much  better  I  am?  Why,  I'm  almost  well !" 

Tonnibel  nodded  and  hurried  out.  She  knew 
which  room  Mrs.  Curtis  occupied  and  sought  the 
other  wing  of  the  house.  When  she  knocked  at 
the  door,  a  woman's  voice  called  a  low:  "Come 
in!" 

Tony  stepped  inside  and  turning,  shut  the  door, 
before  she  took  a  survey  of  the  room.  When  she 
did,  she  almost  fainted.  Reggie  Brown,  the  awful 
man  she  had  known  in  the  canal  boat  days,  the 
man  who  had  dropped  the  poison  into  Paul  Pen- 
dlehaven's  medicine,  was  seated  very  near  Mrs. 


Good  for  Evil  239 

Curtis,  and  Katherine  was  by  the  window,  wear- 
ing a  very  bored  expression. 

An  exclamation  came  from  each  one  of  the 
three  as  the  girl  faced  them,  looking  as  if  she  were 
ready  to  collapse. 

"You  didn't  get  the  money  then,  girl,"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Curtis,  sharply.  "Reggie  dear,  I 
didn't  tell  you  last  night,  but  your  Cousin  John 
refused  me  when  I  asked  him  for  help,  and  I  had 
to  reach  Paul  through " 

Tony's  eyes  were  on  Reginald,  who  was 
crouching  lower  in  his  chair.  Her  forward  stag- 
gering step  broke  off  the  speaker's  explanation. 

"You  want  the  money  for  him?"  she  cried, 
pointing  a  finger  toward  the  cringing  boy. 

Mrs.  Curtis  nodded. 

"Yes,  he's  my  son,"  she  answered. 

Tony  drew  a  long  breath,  letting  it  hiss  out 
through  her  teeth. 

"If  he's  your  son,  ma'am,"  she  said  falteringly, 
"then  you  got  a  murderer  for  a  son.  He  tried — 
he  tried  to  poison  Dr.  Paul." 

Mrs.  Curtis  got  up  slowly,  a  cold  rage  rising  in 


240     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

her  pale  eyes.  Katherine  came  forward  to  her 
mother's  side,  but  Reginald  remained  silent. 

"You  lie,"  snarled  Mrs.  Curtis. 

"I  don't  lie,"  cried  Tony,  hoarsely.  "I  don't 
lie  either.  Look  at  him,  and  see  if  he  ain't  guilty. 
He  did  put  poison  in  Dr.  Paul's  medicine,  and 
I  pushed  him  off  the  window.  But  I  didn't  know 
he  was  your  son." 

By  forcing  her  eyes  around,  the  mother  caught 
sight  of  her  boy. 

"Reggie,"  she  screamed,  "for  God's  love,  don't 
look  that  way.  Why  don't  you  tell  the  huzzy  she 
lies!  Tell  her  you'll  go  to  your  cousins  and  let 
them  know  of  her  accusations.  I'll  go  myself!" 

She  darted  across  the  room,  but  Reginald's 
husky  voice  called  her  back. 

"Don't  do  that,"  he  wailed.  "Don't  do  it, 
mater !  What  she  says  is  true.  I  did  exactly  that 
thing.  I — I  tried  to  kill  Cousin  Paul." 

Mrs.  Curtis  sank  down  with  a  groan,  and  Kath- 
erine uttered  a  cry. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  me  to,  mater,"  went 
on  the  boy,  wearily.  "I  thought  you  said,  if  he 
died,  we'd  get  money " 


Good  for  Evil  241 

"But,  my  God,  I  didn't  want  you  to  kill  him," 
moaned  Mrs.  Curtis. 

"I  didn't,"  said  Reggie. 

"But  you  tried,"  thrust  in  Tonnibel. 

"And  you've  told  my  cousins,  eh*?"  he  asked 
hopelessly. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  denied  Tony.  "I  'spose  mebbe 
I  would  have,  but  I  didn't  know  you  belonged 
here.  I  knew  you  used  to  steal  with  my  daddy 
and  do  all  sorts  of  wicked  things " 

Mrs.  Curtis  cried  out  again. 

"But  I  didn't  know  you'd  try  to  kill  a  poor  sick 
man,"  Tony  went  on,  "and  then  send  you  ma  to 
get  money  of  him." 

"You'll  tell  him,  I  know  you  will,  you  terrible 
girl,"  screamed  Katherine,  no  longer  able  to  re- 
strain herself. 

Tonnibel  thought  quickly.  Cousin  Paul  Pendle- 
haven  lived  in  the  house  with  an  enemy  who  had 
tried  to  take  his  life.  This  same  enemy  had  tried 
to  destroy  her  too. 

"You  said  he  was  going  away*?"  she  questioned 
Mrs.  Curtis  presently.  "Didn't  you?" 


242     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"If  I  get  money,"  put  in  Reggie,  drearily,  "I 
will." 

"Dr.  Paul  wants  to  see  you,  ma'am,"  said 
Tonnibel,  her  dark  gray  eyes  fixed  on  the  woman, 
"and  if  he  goes,"  she  pointed  at  Reginald,  "and 
stays  a  long  time,  I'll  keep  mum.  See?" 

Completely  overlooking  Katherine,  Tony  ran 
out  of  the  room.  The  next  day  she  didn't  look  up 
when  she  heard  Dr.  John  tell  Dr.  Paul  that 
Reginald  had  left  Ithaca.  When  she  peeped  at 
Dr.  Paul,  he  smiled  at  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    WILL    IS    CHANGED 

THE  two  years  that  had  passed  since  Tony 
Devon  had  entered  the  Pendlehaven  home,  the 
greater  part  of  which  she  had  spent  in  school,  had 
brought  about  many  changes.  Paul  Pendlehaven 
had  taken  his  place  among  the  world's  workers, 
but  this  does  not  say  that  he  did  not  still  long  for 
the  child  who  had  gone  from  his  life  eighteen  years 
before.  After  Tony  had  come  to  him  out  of  the 
underworld,  and  he  had  watched  the  fair  young 
girl  struggling  away  from  her  environment 
through  suffering  and  sacrifice,  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  self-pity  had  been  the  instrument 
which  had  felled  him  almost  to  his  grave.  By 
casting  aside  thoughts  of  himself  and  his  loss,  he 
had  been  lifted  from  a  sick  bed  into  a  normal  and 
really  useful  life. 

Mrs.  Curtis  was  no  nearer  giving  Cousin  John 
to  Katherine  as  a  father  than  she  ever  had  been, 

243 


24>4i     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

and  Ithaca  had  caught  no  sight  of  Reginald  Brown 
since  he  had  fled  from  it  with  the  notion  that  he 
might  follow  Uriah  Devon  behind  the  prison  bars. 
Philip  had  carried  on  his  wonderful  work,  living 
in  the  joyous  letters  he  received  from  Tony  and 
spending  his  spare  time  in  answering  them. 

One  morning  Tony  came  to  Paul  Pendlehavrn, 
smiling  and  blushingly  girlish,  and  he  motioned 
her  to  a  little  stool  at  his  feet. 

"Darling,"  he  began  in  a  moved  tone,  "I  sent 
for  you  because  I've  come  to  perhaps  the  most  im- 
portant decision  of  my  whole  life." 

Tony  glanced  up  at  him  wonderingly.  He  ap- 
peared solemnly  sober  and  looked  as  if  he  hadn't 
slept. 

"If  it  affects  me,  Cousin  Paul,  it  can't  be 
greater  than  the  one  you  made  over  two  years  ago 
when  you  took  poor  little  me  into  your  home," 
she  asserted. 

His  hand  fell  lovingly  upon  her  curly  head  as 
though  in  benediction. 

"Yes,  much  greater,  my  sweet.  I  was  selfish 
then !  I  needed  you  more  than  I  ever  knew  at  that 
time,  and  Heaven  knows  that  was  enough.  I 


A  Will  Is  Changed  245 

shouldn't  have  been  here  to-day,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you." 

Tony  snatched  the  hand  that  caressed  her  hair 
and  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

"You  make  too  much  of  the  little  I  did — "  she 
smiled.  "I— I- 

"Don't  forget  Gussie  Piglet,"  added  Pendle- 
haven,  and  they  both  laughed.  "Gussie  was  a  nice 
little  girl,  but  not  so  nice  as  her  adopted  mother." 

They  both  lapsed  into  a  long  silence,  the  girl's 
dreamy  eyes  fixed  on  space,  and  the  man  gazing  at 
her  shining  head. 

"Tony,"  he  ejaculated  at  length.  There  was 
something  in  his  voice  as  he  pronounced  her  name 
that  dispelled  her  revery  instantly. 

"Yes,"  she  breathed.    "Yes,  what  is  it?" 

Pendlehaven  cleared  his  throat. 

"I  would  never  have  believed  that  any  one 
could  have  wormed  her  way  into  my  heart  as  you 
have,"  he  told  her.  "How  would — how  would  you 
like  me  for  your  father*?" 

Tony  tried  to  speak  but,  seeing  he  had  some- 
thing else  to  add,  waited  expectantly. 

"Once,  as  you  know,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "I 


246     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

had  a  little  girl  of  my  own,  but  the  years  have 
been  so  long  and  so  many  since  she  was  taken 
away,  I  feel  I  shan't  have  her  again  in  this  world." 

Tony's  dark  head  dropped  against  his  knee  in 
siknt  sympathy. 

"Could  you  think  of  me  as  your  father,  dear1?" 
he  said  after  an  emotional  silence. 

"I'm  not  fit  for  that,"  sighed  Tony.  "No,  no. 
not  that!  Wait,  wait,  and  I'll  tell  you  why." 

Paul  Pendlehaven  sat  very  quiet  until  she  man- 
aged to  clear  the  tears  from  her  voice  and  take  up 
again,  "It's  like  this.  I  come  from  people  who  are 
not  your  kind,  Cousin  Paul.  You  know  that ! 
Everybody  does!  Then  I'm  not  so  good  as  you 
think  I  am.  First  of  all  I  haven't  always  told  you 
the  truth." 

"So  my  brother  told  me,"  remarked  Dr.  Paul. 
"Long  ago  he  took  me  into  his  confidence  about 
the  poison  in  my  medicine,  and  the  wistaria 
you  plucked  the  morning  after."  A  whimsical  tone 
crept  into  his  voice  as  he  spoke.  Then  he  went  on 
earnestly,  "I've  watched  you  for  two  years,  Tony, 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  know  every  secret  of 
your  soul." 


A  Will  Is  Changed  247 

"No,  you  don't,"  faltered  the  girl.  "You  can't 
imagine  any  one  thinking  thoughts  like  I  have." 

"Perhaps  not,"  returned  the  doctor.  "Are  you 
going  to  tell  me*?" 

Tony  considered  the  rug  at  her  feet  a  few  min- 
utes without  even  seeing  it. 

"I've  tried  to  ever  since  I  came  home  from 
school,"  she  trembled.  "Every  time  I  was  with 

you,  but  I — I '  She  looked  up  at  his  face 

searchingly.  "I  guess  it  was  because  I  loved  you 
so,"  she  went  on  bravely.  "I  used  to  pray  you'd 
never  get  your  little  girl  back."  Her  voice  sank  to 
a  whisper.  "I  thought — I  thought  you  wouldn't 
want  me,  but  now  I  ask  God  every  time  she  comes 
into  my  mind,  to  bring  her  back  and  to  make  me 
a  better  girl." 

Pendlehaven  considered  the  upturned  face  a 
few  moments. 

"I  think  that  was  quite  natural,"  he  said  at 
length.  "I  can't  blame  you  at  all.  I'm  sure  you 
love  me,  dear  child!" 

"And  you'll  forgive  me1?"  asked  the  girl,  breath- 
lessly. 

"More  than  that,"  was  the  reply.   "I'm  going  to 


248     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

adopt  you  legally  for  my  daughter.  After  this  I'm 
your  father,  and  I  give  warning  to  my  Captain 
MacCauley  that  if  he  tries  to  take  you  from  me, 
he's  going  to  have  some  fight  on  his  hands." 

"Isn't  he  wonderful,  Cousin  Paul?"  she  de- 
manded, blushing. 

Not  answering  her  question,  he  touched  her 
dimpled  chin  with  two  fingers. 

"What  did  you  call  me?"  he  demanded  soberly. 
"From  now  on,  I'm  not  Cousin  Paul.  I  am — 
what?" 

"My  father,"  gulped  Tony.  'It  seems  as  if  I 
couldn't  stand  so  much  happiness.  And  if  you're 
my  father,  that  makes  Cousin  John " 

"Your  uncle,"  laughed  a  voice  from  the  door. 
"So  Paul  has  told  you,  has  he,  little  girl?  Well, 
Tony,  you  wouldn't  have  slept  a  wink  one  night  if 
you'd  heard  our  argument  about  you.  We  spent 
several  hours  wrangling  which  of  us  should  adopt 
you.  I  said  I  should  because  I  saw  you  first,  and 
Paul " 

"Has  the  prior  right  because  you  saved  me, 
Tony,"  interrupted  Paul.  "Now  I  think  the  fam- 
ily had  better  know  of  our  changed  arrangements." 


A  Will  Is  Changed  249 

Paul  Pendlehaven  acted  as  spokesman  when 
Mrs.  Curtis  and  her  daughter,  Katherine,  had  been 
summoned  to  the  library.  He  told  them  very 
gravely  that  as  his  will  now  stood,  his  brother, 
John,  and  his  cousin,  Sarah,  were  the  beneficiaries 
of  it.  Mrs.  Curtis  smiled  at  him  and  arranged  the 
lace  ruffles  around  her  neck. 

"You've  always  been  most  generous,  Paul 
dear,"  she  simpered. 

"But  now,"  went  on  the  doctor,  paying  no  heed 
to  the  lady's  remark,  "our  household's  going  to 
have  a  mistress." 

Katherine  lifted  her  chin  from  the  palm  of  her 
hand,  and  Mrs.  Curtis  straightened  up.  Were  her 
ambitions  going  to  be  realized  after  all?  Was  it 
Paul  who  was  going  to  put  her  in  her  rightful 
place?  The  smile  broadened  on  her  lips,  and  she 
sank  back  with  a  happy  sigh.  She  had  to  admit 
Cousin  Paul  looked  very  handsome,  yes,  even 
handsomer  than  Cousin  John.  What  a  fool  she 
had  been  not  to  have  caught  him  sooner. 

"The  woman  you  put  at  the  head  of  your  home 
will  be  most  fortunate  and  happy,  dear  Paul,"  she 
murmured. 


250     The  Xhadw  uf  the  Slidtcrixr/  Pines 

"I  hope  so,"  returned  Pendlehaven,  and  Dr. 
John  pulled  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  to  keep 
back  a  malicious  grin. 

"I'm  going  to  adopt  Tony  Devon Dr. 

Paul  had  only  time  enough  to  make  this  statement 
when  Mrs.  Curtis  jumped  to  her  feet. 

"You  couldn't  do  that!"  she  cried.  "That 
would  be  wicked,  Paul,  absolutely  wicked!  Oh 
God,  don't  do  that !" 

Then  in  spite  of  himself,  Cousin  John  laughed. 
He  was  hugely  enjoying  Sarah's  humiliation  and 
the  sight  of  Katherine's  dark,  enraged  face. 

Without  heeding  in  the  slightest  his  cousin's 
bitter  ejaculation,  Paul  Pendlehaven  picked  up  a 
box  that  lay  at  his  elbow.  With  much  ceremony 
he  opened  it  and  took  out  an  exquisite  pearl  neck- 
lace. 

"I  do  not  need  to  remind  any  of  you,"  he  said, 
turning  his  eyes  from  his  brother  to  his  two  white- 
faced  cousins,  "that  these  belonged  to  my  dear 
wife.  I  have  always  considered  them  the  property 
of  her  daughter  too.  That  is  the  reason,  Katherine, 
why  I've  always  refused  your  request  to  wear 
them.  But  now  I  have  a  daughter."  He  turned 


A  Will  Is  Changed  851 

smiling  eyes  upon  Tonnibel.  "I  shall  allow  her 
to  wear  them  whenever  she  wishes,  and  if — if  her 
lost  sister  isn't  found,  then  they  are  hers — hers 
forever." 

A  long  hissing  breath  broke  from  Sarah  Curtis, 
and  a  gasp  came  from  Katherine. 

"I  couldn't  wear  them,"  Tony  got  out  at 
length,  "I  simply  couldn't." 

"Not  to  please  me,  your  father,  Tonnibel  *?"  de- 
manded Paul,  almost  brusquely. 

"And  me,  your  new  uncle*?"  laughed  Dr. 
John.  "Why,  honey,  little  girl,"  he  reached  out 
and  took  Tonnibel's  hand,  "don't  look  as  if  you'd 
lost  your  last  friend !" 

Then  Paul  Pendlehaven  drew  Tonnibel  Devon 
to  his  side,  and,  when  he  had  clasped  the  jewels 
around  her  neck,  he  lifted  her  face  and  kissed  her. 

"There,  little  daughter!"  His  voice  choked 
with  emotion,  but  he  conquered  his  feelings  and 
went  on,  "they're  very  lovely,  very  precious,  Tony, 
doubly  so  because  you're  wearing  them.'* 

"Oh,"  she  exulted,  "how  happy  I  am!  ...  It 
isn't  the  pearls,  though  they're  simply  great,  but 
it's  that  I  have  some  real  people."  She  turned  a 


252     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Mushed  and  radiant  face  to  each  man.  "Somebody 
that's  my  very  own.  My  mother's  dead,  and  my 
father- 

"Is  in  prison,"  snapped  Mrs.  Curtis,  vindictive- 
ly. "I'm  wondering  what  he'll  say  to  all  this 
when  he  cornes  home." 

"His  opinion  won't  make  any  difference  to  us," 
Paul  Pendlehaven  stated  coolly.  "He  has  forfeit- 
ed every  right  to  any  claim  on  Tony." 

"Hideous!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Curtis,  and  "Well, 
I  never,"  dropped  from  Katherine. 

"And,"  went  on  Dr.  Paul,  relentlessly,  for 
he  knew  the  barbs  that  were  being  thrust  into  the 
souls  of  his  two  cousins,  4Tm  going  to  change  my 
will  in  favor  of  my  new  daughter  here 

f(And  I  mine  in  favor  of  our  young  Salvation 
Army  Captain  who  is  going  to  marry  my  new 
niece,"  chuckled  Dr.  John.  "I  guess  that's  all 
we  have  to  say,  Paul." 

In  silence  Katherine  and  Mrs.  Curtis  faded  from 
the  room,  carry-ing  with  them  bitter  humiliation 
and  nursing  outraged  feelings. 

"It's  all  your  fault,  mamma,"  scolded  Kath- 
erine, bursting  into  tears  when  they  were  in  the 


A  Will  Is  Changed  2-53 

seclusion  of  their  own  apartments.  "You've 
whined  and  wept  yourself  right  out  of  Cousin 
John's  life,  that's  what  you've  done.  God,  how 
I  hated  that  girl  when  I  saw  Caroline's  pearls 
around  her  neck!" 

"What  are  you  doing  now?"  thrust  back  her 
mother.  "Aren't  you  crying  as  if  your  heart  would 
break?  I  tell  you  tears " 

"Oh  Lordy,  tears!  What  good  do  they  do?" 
came  sharply.  "Here  we  are  without  a  future, 
without  a  home !  That  interloper  will  see  we  go 
the  moment  Paul  gets  out  those  papers!  Oh, 
what  shall  we  do?" 

"I  wish  that  man — her  father,  I  mean — was  out 
of  jail,"  mused  Mrs.  Curtis.  "I  really  believe  he 
could  do  something,  Kathie.  Perhaps,  Reg- 
gie  " 

Katherine  wiped  her  eyes  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment. 

"Mamma,  why  don't  you  send  for  Reggie?" 
she  questioned.  "Now,  listen  to  me.  Reggie  con- 
fided in  me  before  he  left  that  he  really  was  fond 

of  that  girl,  and  if Oh,  mamma,  I've  thought 

of  a  wonderful  thing.  Send  for  Rege,  shove  tht 


254    The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pinet 

girl  under  his  nose  every  minute.  Let  him  cut 
Philip  out- 

"And,  perhaps,  have  my  son  marry  that  thing," 
objected  the  mother,  curtly. 

"That  thing,  as  you  please  to  call  Tony  Devon, 
is  one  of  the  prettiest  and  richest  young  women  in 
this  county,"  Katherine  snapped  back.  "She's 
heiress  to  the  Pendlehavens,  and  engaged  to  be 
married  to  a  man  who  owns  half  the  town.  Thing, 
eh1?  Well,  I  think  she's  a  little  higher  up  in  the 
world  at  this  moment  than  my  half-brother,  Reg- 
gie, if  you  want  my  opinion." 

That  night  an  urgent  message  from  his  frantic 
mother  traveled  by  wire  to  Reginald  Curtis,  sum- 
moning him  home. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    LAST   CARD 

ONE  day  some  weeks  later,  Reginald  Brown 
walked  rapidly  along  the  Boulevard  past  the  row 
of  squatter  shacks  and  paused  in  front  of  the  Sal- 
vation Army  quarters.  His  brow  grew  dark,  and 
a  hateful  expression  settled  on  his  face  and  stayed 
there  as  he  swung  swiftly  on.  That  day  he  had 
received  word  that  Uriah  Devon,  released  from 
prison,  would  anchor  the  "Dirty  Mary'*  near  the 
Hoghole  in  her  accustomed  place. 

Devon  was  on  deck  when  Brown  ran  up  the 
gangplank. 

"So  you  came,  old  top,"  was  Uriah's  greeting. 
"It's  good  you  did;  I  want  to  know  what's  doin'." 

A  woman  came  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  and 
peered  out.  When  she  saw  the  newcomer,  she 
scowled  and  went  back. 

"I  thought  you  said  «he  was  dead,"  commented 


256     TJie  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Reggie,  with  a  wag  of  his  head  toward  the  spot 
where  the  woman  had  stood. 

"Well,  she  ain't !  Worse  luck!"  growled  Uriah. 
"I  told  that  to  the  kid  to  make  her  feel  bad.  Ede 
was  willing  to  be  dead  for  a  while  anyhow. 
What's  the  news  of  Tony?" 

"Oh,  she's  a  lady  now,"  answered  Reggie,  sar- 
castically. "The  Pendlehavens  have  sent  her  to 
school  ever  since  you  went  away.  Devon,  I  swear 
to  God,  she's  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  world,  and 
my  mother  tells  me  Paul  Pendlehaven's  going  to 
adopt  her.  As  it  is,  he's  given  her  a  fortune  in 
jewels  and  clothes.  The  mater's  furious!"  Reggie 
lifted  heavy  eyes  to  his  companion's  face.  "And 
what  do  you  think  else*?"  he  demanded. 

"I  dunno,"  grunted  the  other.  "Good  God ! 
Don't  sit  there  tearin'  me  to  pieces  with  curiosity. 
Fire  ahead,  and  tell  me." 

"She's  copped  Phil  MacCauley,"  returned  Reg- 
inald; "Ithaca's  snob  of  a  Salvation  Army  Cap- 
tain, the  fellow  who  threw  me  in  the  lake  that  day, 
and  he's  as  rich  as  the  Pendlehavens  put  together. 
Katherine's  almost  crazy  over  it,"  he  continued, 
seeing  Devon  still  in  a  listening  attitude;  "but 


The  Last  Card  257 

she  doesn't  feel  any  worse  about  it  than  I  do." 
Reggie  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  high-pitched, 
angry  voice. 

"Well,  he  won't  get  'er,"  asserted  Uriah,  sharp- 
ly. "I've  told  you  the  girl's  rich  too.  Her  father's 
got  money  to  burn." 

"A  lot  of  good  that'll  do  you,  Ry,"  sneered  Reg- 
gie. "She  wouldn't  look  at  the  likes  of  you  and 
Edith.  You  aren't  in  her  class  any  more." 

"Ain't  I  so?"  queried  Devon,  grouchily.  "I 
reckon  her  hide  ain't  no  tougher  nor  thicker'n  it 
used  to  be.  I'll  thump  hell  out  of  'er  once  or 
twice;  I'll  show  'er  what  class  she's  in." 

While  he  had  been  speaking,  the  younger  man 
had  drawn  a  case  from  his  pocket  and  opened  it. 
Pausing  in  the  act  of  selecting  a  cigarette,  he 
laughed  maliciously. 

"You'll  have  to  catch  her  before  you  beat  he*, 
won't  you,  Ry?"  he  inquired  tauntingly.  "How're 
you  going  to  get  your  hands  on  her?  Tell  me  that, 
will  you?" 

"Yep,  Mr.  Mealy-mouth,  I  will,"  thrust  back 
Devon.  "We  got  to  steal  'er."  He  clenched  his 
heavy  fist  and  swung  it  menacingly  and  suggestive- 


258     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

ly.  "What's  left  of  'er  when  I'm  done  with  'er  '11 
marry  you  all  right.  That  over,  I'll  tell  'er  who 
ihe  is,  providin'  you  promise  to  halve  up  the  stuff 
with  me." 

"I  did  promise  you  once,  didn't  I'?"  asked  Reg- 
gie, sulkily.  "Of  course,  I  will,  but  what's  the 
use  of  dreaming?  The  Pendlehavens  're  too  much 
for  us.  Now  that  Paul's  well,  he  and  John  are  a 
big  team,  and  they  worship  the  ground  that  girl 
walks  on.  You're  biting  off  more'n  you  can  chew, 
Ry.  You  aren't  any  too  strong,  you  know.  A 
prison  record  doesn't  help  any." 

Uriah  grunted  and  followed  a  ring  of  smoke 
with  his  frowning  eyes. 

"She's  my  girl,"  he  said  at  length,  "and  I'm 
goin'  to  have  'er." 

"I  thought  you  said  she  wasn't,"  put  in  Reggie, 
suspiciously. 

"Well,  she  don't  know  that,  does  she*?"  Devon 
retorted.  "Nobody  knows  but  you  and  Ede,  be- 
rfftes  me." 

"She's  a  beauty,"  sighed  Reggie,  his  voice  low- 
•red  to  a  growl.  "I'd  marry  her  if  she  didn't  have 
*eent" 


The  Last  Card  250 

Devon  laughed  shortly. 

"You  don't  need  to  make  any  such  sacrifice,  old 
horse,"  said  he.  "Your  eyes  will  bung  out  of  your 
head  when  you  hear  her  name." 

Reginald  argued,  he  should  know  who  the  girl 
was  before  he  married  her,  but  Uriah  wouldn't 
give  up  his  secret.  Instead,  he  unfolded  to  the 
prospective  husband  how  he  planned  to  capture 
Tonnibel  and  sent  Reggie  away  convinced,  red  hot 
to  perform  his  part  in  the  scheme.  At  last,  he 
was  to  have  the  girl  he  wanted  and  money  too. 

The  next  morning  Reggie  approached  his 
mother  with  an  air  of  secrecy. 

"A  minute,  mater,"  he  said  softly.  "Just  a 
minute!  I've  seen  Tony  Devon's  father.  There! 
Now  sit  down,  old  lady,  while  I  tell  you  some- 
thing." 

"Good !  Tell  me  about  it.  He'll  do  something, 
won't  he?"  Mrs.  Curtis  took  her  son's  hand  and 
squeezed  it.  "Tell  me,  sweet  boy!" 

"Ry  says  the  only  way  is  to  kidnap  her  bodily 
and  force  her  to  marry  the  man  he  promised  her 
to,"  the  boy  explained.  "What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 


260     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"Paul  would  kill  him,"  gasped  Mrs.  Curtis,  her 
eyes  taking  on  an  expression  of  fear. 

"He  won't  have  a  chance  if  Devon  works  our 
his  present  scheme,"  replied  Reggie,  "but  you  and 
Kathie  have  to  help  us." 

In  the  terror  that  overtook  her,  Mrs.  Curti> 
shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  want  anything  to  do  with  it,"  she  ob- 
jected, wobbling  in  tears.  "We'd  lose  our  homr. 
Paul  and  John  would  turn  us  out.  They've 
threatened  to  many  a  time  !" 

"Well,  when  I  assure  you  our  beloved  cousins 
won't  know  anything  about  it,  not  even  after  it's 
over,  won't  you  try  to  help  us?"  queried  the  young 
man.  "Now,  if  it  goes  through  all  right,  you 
catch  Cousin  John  on  the  rebound,  and  Kathie'd 
be  sure  to  rope  in  Phil." 

"What  joy  that  would  be!"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Curtis.  "What  about  it?" 

Then  Reggie  told  her,  in  very  low  tones,  the 
plan  they  had  concocted. 

"You  talk  it  over  with  Kathie,"  he  advised, 
lighting  a  cigarette,  "and  you'll  have  to  see 
about  the  money." 


The  Last  Card  261 

"I'll  get  it  for  him  if  I  have  to  sell  my  jewels 
and  Kathie's  too,"  promised  the  woman,  her  eyes 
sparkling  in  anticipation.  ''I'll  go  and  tell  her 
right  away." 

Meanwhile,  all  unconscious  that  Uriah  Devon 
had  been  released  from  prison  and  was  conspiring 
against  her,  Tonnibel  Devon  was  entering  heart 
and  soul  into  the  Salvation  Army  work  with 
Philip.  Each  evening  she  went  with  him  to  head- 
quarters where  her  fresh,  young  voice  and  her 
kindliness  drew  many  a  poor  soul  for  comfort  and 
courage. 

One  week  after  Reginald  Curtis  had  confided 
kis  secret  to  his  mother,  and  she  had  told  it  over 
again  in  whispers  to  Katherine,  at  an  hour  when 
the  Pcndlehaven  brothers  were  absent,  Uriah 
Devon  came  quietly  to  the  house.  Reggie  met  him 
and  took  him  immediately  to  Mrs.  Curtis'  room. 

When  she  gazed  with  widening  eyes  on  the 
dark,  swollen  face,  puffed  lids  and  pale  eyes,  she 
shuddered.  If  she'd  had  any  mother-feeling  in  her 
heart,  she  would  have  banished  the  wish  to  put 
pretty  Tonnibel  into  his  hands. 

Uriah  paused  embarrassedly  before  her,  made 


262     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

•4  curt  bow  and  twisted  his  cap  between  his  fingers. 

"Sit  down,  Ry,"  invited  Reggie.  "Now  tell  my 
mother  how  you  are  going  to  carry  this  thing  out." 

Uriah  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  do  anything,  or  tell  what  I'm 
goin'  to  do,  till  I  get  the  money,"  he  said  crisply. 
"I've  got  to  have  five  thousand  dollars  first." 

"Five  thousand  dollars,  old  lady,"  grinned  Reg- 
gie, turning  to  his  mother.  "You'll  have  to  cough 
up.  .  .  .  Now,  for  God's  sake,  don't  cry!  Dig!" 

"I'll  need  the  whole  five  thousand  to  get  'cr 
away,  and  to  keep  'er  after  I  get  'er.  She'd  comr 
streakin'  back  if  I  don't  rope  'er  up." 

"I'll  get  the  money  for  you  to-morrow,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Curtis,  wiping  her  eyes,  "and  you  mustn't 
come  here  when  my  cousins  are  home."  She  re- 
lapsed into  silence  and  then  added :  "I  warn  yo» 
against — against  Philip  MacCauley  too." 


CHAPTER  XXT 

A  WEDDING  TO  BE 

MRS.  CURTIS  had  been  all  eyes  and  ears  for  even 
the  slightest  happening  in  the  Pendlehaven  home, 
since  she  had  almost  stripped  her  jewel-box  and 
Katherine's  to  get  the  money  Tony's  father  de- 
manded. Now  she  had  it  tucked  away,  ready  to 
deliver  it,  but  as  the  time  went  by  and  she  had 
no  chance  to  send  for  Uriah  to  come  for  his  daugh- 
ter, she  began  to  give  up  hope  that  the  house 
would  ever  be  rid  of  the  presence  which  was  a 
constant  thorn  in  her  flesh.  But  it  does  seem  that 
sooner  or  later  Fate  plays  the  lucky  cards  into  the 
hands  of  the  undeserving,  and  so  it  happened  in 
the  case  of  the  conspirators  against  Tonnibel 
Devon.  Like  all  things  waited  for,  the  opportunity 
eame  one  day  while  the  family  was  at  dinner. 

Philip  MacCauley  entered  in  great  excitement. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  swallowed  the  sun,  my 
dear  lad,"  smiled  Dr.  Paul. 


204     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering 

"I've  got  to  go  away,"  flushed  the  boy,  laugk- 
ing,  "and  I  won't  go  alone."    He  gazed  meaningly 
at  Tonnibel.    "Pardon  my  rushing  in  this  way,  but 
—but  I  want  Tony  to  go  with  me." 

Mrs.  Curtis  flashed  him  a  dark  look.  He  rarely 
paid  her,  or  her  frowning  daughter,  any  attention 
nowadays,  so  he  did  not  notice  that  a  pallor 
settled  on  Katherine's  face,  or  that  her  fork  fell 
from  her  limp  fingers  to  her  plate.  Hie  mother 
saw  her  daughter's  mental  distress,  however,  and 
studied  the  young  man's  face,  groaning  to  herself. 
He  had  grown  so  manly  and  hand.-ome  in  the  past 
two  years,  and  he  was  the  one  person  she  desired 
for  her  son-in-law.  He  was  rich  too,  which  only 
added  to  his  attractivene-s. 

"You  might  explain  a  little  more,  my  boy," 
Dr.  John  spoke  up  in  a  deep  voice. 

An  embarrassed  laugh  fell  from  Philip's  lips. 

"There  isn't  any  secret  about  it."  he  answered. 
"Fin  going  abroad  for  the  Salvation  Army  for  a 
year,  longer  perhaps,  and  it  would  be  too  much  to 
ask  me  to  go  all  by  myself." 

Lines  appeared  between  Dr.  Paul's  brows. 
At  last  the  day  had  come  when  he  must  give  «p 


A  Wedding  to  Be  2G5 

the  girl  who  had  taken  a  rare  place  among  those 
he  held  dearest.  He  noticed  with  a  quick  sigh 
that  Tony's  eyes  deepened  softly,  and  her  red 
lips  were  parted  in  a  smile. 

"It'll  hurry  up  our  marriage  a  little,"  Philip 
continued,  ''but — but ' 

The  sound  of  a  chair  scraping  back  from  the 
table  broke  off  his  statement. 

"Then  we'll  adjourn  and  talk  it  over,"  remarked 
Dr.  John.  "You  ask  a  mighty  big  thing,  Phil, 
when  you  demand  our  little  girl  without  more 
warning." 

"Little  girl,"  sneered  Mrs.  Curtis,  after  the 
four  had  left  the  dining-room.  She  started  to  say 
something  else,  but  her  daughter's  terrible  out- 
burst stopped  her. 

Til  die !  Oh,  mj  God,  I'll  die  if  they  go  away 
together,"  she  moaned.  "Mother,  if  you  possibly 
can,  do  something!  Do  something  for  me!" 

It  happened,  much  to  Mrs.  Curtis'  surprise, 
that  Dr.  John  sought  her  out  within  the  hour. 

"Those  children  have  won  Paul  and  me  over, 
Sarah,"  he  said  a  little  grimly.  "They're  going 
to  kc  Married  a  week  from  to-day.  It  won't  be 


266     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pinet 

much  trouble  to  prepare  the  house,  will  it?  You 
needn't  make  a  fuss.  It'll  be  very  quiet.  Tony 
can  buy  everything  she  needs  in  New  York  on 
her  honeymoon." 

In  the  rage  that  overtook  her,  Mrs.  Curtis 
wished  the  speaker  dead  at  her  feet. 

"The  house  isn't  mine,  Cousin  John,"  she  said 
maliciously,  "but,  of  course,  I'll  do  what  I  can, 
although  Katherine  isn't  at  all  well.  I  fear  the 
child  is  going  to  be  ill." 

Dr.  John  found  Katherine  with  her  ryes  dull 
and  heavy,  prescribed  for  her,  and,  before  leaving 
the  room,  announced : 

"Paul  and  I  are  going  over  to  Syracuse  to- 
morrow afternoon  to  make  a  few  purchases,  but 
we'll  be  back  on  the  night  train.  Stay  in  bed, 
Kathie,  until  morning,  and  you'll  be  all  right." 

The  moment  he  had  disappeared,  Katherine 
•prang  up. 

"To-morrow  they're  going  away!  You  heard, 
you  heard,  mother?"  she  cried.  "Now  then, 
where's  Reggie?" 

"Darling,"  advised  Mrs.  Curtis,  moved  to 
tears  by  her  daughter's  distress,  "I  hare  a  pro 


A  Wedding  to  Be  267 

monition!  We'd  better  not  interfere  at  all.  Oh, 
child,  if  you  could  only  get  your  mind  of?  that 
boy !  He  isn't  worthy  of  a  love  like  yours. 
We've  got  a  nice  home 

"Nice  home!"  hurled  back  Katherine,  wildly. 
"Nice  home!  Look  what  she's  got!  Just  think 
of  her  and  then  of  me !  Oh,  God,  that  such 
misery  could  be  in  the  world!  I'll  never  forgive 
you,  mamma,  if  you  don't  keep  your  promise  to 
me.  You've  said  a  thousand  times,  she  should 
leave  this  house,  and  she's  still  here.  You 
promised  me  I'd  have  Philip,  and  she's  got  him. 
I  hate  you  and  everybody  else." 

"Don't  say  that,  darling,  don't,"  groaned  Mrs. 
Curtis.  I'll  see  your  brother,  and  who  knows," 
she  brightened  and  smiled  through  her  tears, 
"who  knows  but  what  that  horrid  girl  will  be 
gone  by  to-morrow  night*?" 


CH.MTKU  XXVI 

IN    Till     DALANC] 

RI:C;INAI.D  BROWN  and  I'riah  Devon  were 
•  ited  in  i  io.se  conference  along  the  path  that  led 
to  the  ''Dirty  Mary."  Reginald  had  rehearsed 
,;.:  he  had  learned  trom  his  mother. 

''Unless  we  do  it  tonight,  Hy,  .said  he,  "it's 
ail  up.  Both  my  cousins  will  be  away  hours,  and 
MacCaule's  bus  in  the  evenin.  What  do  ou 


I'riah  broke  off  a  blade  of  grass  and  drew  it 
with  a  squeak  through  his  crooked  teeth. 

"We'll  get  the  kid,"  he  snarled. 

"Mother's  awful  worried  though,"  Reggie  con- 
tinued, "but  as  I  told  her,  'No  risk,  no  gain,'  and 
I'd  go  a  long  ways  on  the  road  of  risk  to  get  Ton- 
nibel  Devon." 

"Well,  we'll  get  ?er,"  monotoned  Uriah,  with 
a  far-awa  look  in  his  blood-shot  eyes. 


In  the  Balance  2(51) 

"After  I'm  married  to  her,"  took  up  the  boy. 
''you'll  tell  me  who  she  is,  eh?" 

"Yep,"  replied  Uriah,  "I'm  goin'  down  to  the 
scow  now.  Good-by,  and  be  sure  to  tell  your 
mother  to  put  up  the  sign  we  spoke  of  if  every- 
thing's clear  for  me  to  butt  in." 

Edith  Devon  looked  up  from  the  boat  deck  as 
her  husband  approached.  He  sat  down  on  the 
bench  beside  her,  a  grizzly  smile  on  his  face. 

"Ede,"  he  asked,  ''seen  any  change  in  me 
lately?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  she  returned.  "You  ain't  booz- 
in'  half  so  much,  and  you've  been  kinder  and 
better-hearted  to  me." 

"Mebbe  it's  because  I've  got  religion,''  Uriah 
explained  finally.  Edith's  exclamation  halted  his 
statement,  but  he  went  on  hurriedly:  "Religion 
makes  a  man  repent  of  all  his  cussed  acts.  I'm 
sorry  now,  Ede,  for  the  way  I've  treated  you  and 
the  kid." 

He  couldn't  have  uttered  words  more  welcome 
to  Edith  Devon.  For  the  first  time  in  years,  she 
leaned  her  head  against  him.  It  took  some  effort 
on  the  man's  part  not  to  shove  her  away. 


270     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

"And  matters  have  took  a  mighty  big  change 
in  the  last  two  days,"  he  continued.  "Ede,  I 
know,  for  years  you  been  worryin'  your  life  out 
about  Tony.  I  fixed  it  up." 

Mrs.  Devon  was  on  her  feet  almost  before  the 
last  words  fell  from  her  husband's  lips. 

"How  fixed  it  up,  RiahV"  she  gasped. 

"Now  don't  get  panicky  if  I  tell  you  some- 
thing," Uriah  cautioned  her,  slyly,  "but  I  went 
to  Pendlehaven  and  told  him  1  copped  the  kid, 
and  not  you,  and  I  says:  'Mr.  Pendlehaven, 
you've  had  'er  for  over  two  years,  and  she's  your 
brat.  Now  keep  'er!" 

Edith  fell  back  on  the  bench  as  if  the  man  had 
dealt  her  a  blow. 

"Uriah,  honey,"  she  breathed,  but  Devon  bade 
her  be  silent. 

"The  kid's  awful  fond  of  you,"  he  continued 
impressively,  "and  I  up  and  told  'er  you  wa* 
livin',  and  to-night  you're  goin'  to  see  'er." 

Edith  began  to  sob  hysterically,  and,  forcing 
himself  to  the  act,  Devon  placed  his  arm  around 
her. 

"She's  goin'   to  get  married   to  a   rich   young 


771 

feller,"  he  went  on,  "and  now  I'm  glad  she  didn't 
marry  Regc.  Gettin'  religion  makes  a  man  over 
somehow,  and  he  sees  things  with  another  light 
on  'em.  I'm  goin'  to  take  you  away  somewheres 
and  begin  all  over  again.  Ain't  you  glad,  EdeV" 

Wasn't  she  glad!  No  words  could  express 
Edith's  ieelings  at  that  moment.  How  many 
times  her  heart  had  ached  ior  a  sight  ot  the 
pretty  child  she'd  had  so  many  years. 

"Didn't  Pendlehaven  say  nothin'  about  send- 
ing us  up  for  it'*1"  she  asked  timidly. 

"Not  a  thing,"  retorted  Uriah.  "Not  by  a 
damned  sight,  he  didn't!  I  told  him  I  knew  you 
when  you  lived  at  his  house,  that  you  loved  the 
kid  so,  and  when  I  saw  you  cryin'  about  leavin' 
her,  I  up  and  stole  'er.  He  was  too  glad  to  know 
Tony  was  his,  to  make  any  fuss.  Anyhow,  she 
wouldn't  let  'im.  Why,  my  God!  That  little 
kid  kissed  me!" 

Edith  exclaimed  in  delight. 

"I've  told  you  more'n  once,  Uriah,"  she  said, 
leaning  against  him  again,-  "Tony'd  like  you  if 
you'd  let  'er.  When  we  goin'  to  see  'er,  Ry*?" 

"Oh,  after  a  while,"  »aid  he.     "After  supper! 


-ll'>     The  Shadoic  of  the  Slu'lieriny  /Y\w 


.'.lowered    Kdit  ' 


\    his    u'i  if.    I   riah    I)t:\'c)ii 
i     "Din  \   \Lir\  "  for  sonic  v>  < 
.-i   Kdirh   in  her  thoughts  thai 
laid   no  tieetl   r<>  her  husband's   sly   actions. 
knew  i  hey    would  not   dare  to  return   to  rh<-   : 
v.vif.h     I'ony    until    alter    ^he    had    bf'n    torctd    '  •*• 
marry    Reginald     Brown.      I  'riah    would    ,:!. 
.r.i%c  abandoned  hi-  \vite  tore\'cr,  bur  ;n  ma 
his    f)lans,    had    foreseen    that,    n    tliev   nier    with 
much    opposition    trom    Tonnibel,    the    woman, 
under    his    threat-,    could    handle    her.     At    nine 
o'clock  they  started  tor  Ithaca,   I'riah  carrj'inc  a 
•imall  black  bag.  and  in  hi-  pocket  Ins  revolver. 

They  entered  lYndlehaven  Place  through  th- 
service  gate,  and,  when  they  passed  the  garag'1, 
the  man  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  Reginald'- 
automobile  was  standing  ready  for  use.  Close  to 
the  mansion,  he  placed  his  wife  out  of  sight  under 
a  rose  bush. 

"I'm   goin'    in    and    get   Tony.    Ede,"    lie   ex- 


In  the  Balance  273 

plained.  "'Twas  a  promise  I  give  the  kid,  she 
could  see  you  alone  first." 

He  cast  his  eye  over  the  house  as  he  spoke. 
The  one  light  gleaming  from  the  library  window, 
Mrs.  Curtis'  promised  sign,  told  him  the  coast 
was  clear.  lie  had  every  confidence  the  affair 
would  turn  out  advantageously  for  him.  He 
would  have  his  revenge  on  the  Pendlehavens, 
besides  obtaining  all  the  money  he  wanted.  After 
Reggie's  marriage  to  Tony,  and  the  girl  had  been 
perfectly  subdued,  he  would  begin  negotiating 
with  Paul  Pcndlehaven.  Money!  Uriah  took  a 
long  breath.  Money  was  his  god,  and  he  im- 
agined he  could  never  have  enough  of  it. 

"Just  sit  here,  'til  I  come  back,  Ede,"  he  re- 
marked. "You  don't  want  to  see  Pendlehaven, 
eh?" 

Edith  shuddered  and  shrank  back. 

"No,  I  don't,11  she  whispered.  "I  just  want  to 
talk  to  the  baby  a  minute.  I  want  her  to  forgive 
me  before  we  go  away.  We  been  cussed  mean 
to  that  little  kid,  Uriah." 

Devon  made  a  grunting  assent,  left  Edith  sit- 


274     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

ring  hx:hind  the  rose  bush  and  slipped  up  the  steps 
oi  the  house. 

A  little  while  before,  Reggie  Brown,  well  filled 
up  on  brandy,  had  descended  to  the  library  to 
wait  for  Devon.  It  he  hadn't  had  this  tiling  on, 
and  the  importance  of  it  hadn't  weighed  on  him 
all  the  long  clay,  he'd  have  gone  to  bed,  his  tiead 
ached  so,  but  his  desire  to  capture  Tony  Devon 
kept  the  fumes  of  alcohol  trom  completely  be- 
fuddling his  brains.  Inside  the  library,  he  stood 
-^waving  near  the  door,  tapping  his  pocket  from 
rime  to  time  to  make  sure  he  was  armed.  Then 
he  stumbled  across  the  room,  threw  himself  MI 
the  divan  and  in  another  moment  had  forgotten 
in  a  drunken  sleep  that  there  wag  any  such  per- 
son in  the  world  as  Tonnibel  Devon. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Curtis  was  walking  the  floor 
upstairs,  lialf  mad  with  anxiety,  and  Katherine, 
in  a  state  of  nerves,  was  coking  one  cigarette 
ut  ter  another. 

"God!  When  she's  gone/'  broke  forth  the  girl, 
"'I'll  know  what  happiness  means!" 

"So  will  I."  echoed  Mrs.  Curtis.    "It's 


In  the  Balance  275 

time  for  me  to  go  down,  isn't  it4?  I  hope  that 
man  won't  disappoint  us." 

"Don't  fear  about  that,"  sneered  Katherine. 
"He's  even  more  anxious  than  we  are.  So's  Reg- 
gie, but  I  don't  envy  you  telling  Tony  her 
mother's  alive." 

"I  think  you  might  do  it,"  complained  Mrs. 
Curtis,  with  a  sniffle.  "All  the  anxiety  and  worry 
of  this  thing  has  fallen  on  me." 

"That's  because  you're  so  clever,  my  sweet," 
retorted  Katherine,  sarcastically.  "Oh,  go  on 
down,  and  don't  act  as  if  you  were  afraid  of 
your  own  shadow.  Say,  Rege  was  drunk  as  any- 
thing at  dinner." 

"Disgustingly  so,"  sighed  the  mother  as  she 
went  out.  "I  hope  to  the  high  heavens,  he'll 
straighten  up  some  day." 

First  Mrs.  Curtis  stole  down  to  the  library. 
There  she  found  Uriah  Devon,  standing  with  his 
hat  in  his  hand,  and,  as  he  saw  her,  he  made  a 
grinning  bow. 

"Where's  Rege?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Upstairs,  I  think,"  replied  Mrs.  Curtis,  in  a 


270     The  Shades  (if  the  Sheltering  Pines 

!o\v  voice,     "lie's  had  too  much   ro  drink.     Dv! 
you  bring  your  witeV" 

"Yep,  she's  outside,"  \va-  the  man's  answer. 
"And  the  kid'1!  Doe-  she  know  Kde's  -till  in  rh( 
land  of  flic  livm'  V" 

"No.    hut    I'll    tell    her    now."    rerurncd    M~ 
I'urti-,    de>perately.     "Here'.-    the    five    thou 
dollar.-."    She  thru-t  a  roll  oT  hank  note-  into  his 
hand.      "I'll   -end  Tonv   right   down."   ended 
woman,  and  -he  went  swiftly  out. 

l:riah  glanced  about  the  room  in  anticip.. 
Me   intended   not   only   to   take   Ton}'    with    : 
but    everything   else    of    value    he    could    L-v    rm 
hand>   on.     Edith    had    otten    described    the    val- 
uables kept  in  a  wall-sate  in  this  very  room.     Mr-. 
Curtis  had  no  more  than  closed  the  door  before. 
revolver  in  hand,  he  began  his  search.    An  excla- 
mation of   delight  almost  escaped  his   lips   when 
he   discovered    the   safe-door    was    unlocked.     He 
grinned  at  the  carelessness  of  the  rich  as  he  f; 
into   the   black  bag  the   boxes  of  jewelry,   com- 
pletely  stripping   the   safe   of   its   contents.     H» 
didn't    take   time   to   look   over  his   haul !     Thar 
would  come  later. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"POOR   LITTLE   MOTHER" 

ALL  through  the  day,  Tonnibel  Devon  had 
told  her  joy  over  and  over  to  herself.  Now,  al- 
most read\-  to  retire,  she  was  sitting  reading  the 
Bible.  It  seemed  mast  appropriate  that  on  this 
night,  she  >hould  sing  with  the  Poet,  the  Psalms 
of  Thanksgiving. 

"Stand  still,  and  see  the  Salvation  of  the 
Lord,"  met  her  eyes.  She  smiled,  as  she  remem- 
bered how  crudely  she  had  often  used  those 
blessed  words.  Time  after  time,  in  desperate 
need,  she  had  flung  them  into  the  heart  of  the 
Infinite,  and  even  now  when  she  was  older  and 
wiser,  she  realized  the  efficacy  of  prayer  and  good 
deeds. 

A  knock  at  the  door  caused  her  to  close  the 
book  and  put  it  on  the  table  before  she  called: 
'Come  in." 

277 


278     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

At  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Curtis,  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
startled. 

"I've  good  news  for  you.  child."  choked  the 
\vonian,  and  Ton}'  went  lorward  eagerly.  She 
had  lost  her  tear  of  the  haughtv  matron,  and  of 
late  had  accepted  her  tolerance  as.  perhaps,  the 
only  consideration  she  could  ever  get. 

"WhatV"  she  demanded.     "Is  Philip — 

"Now,  don't  get  nervous,  my  dear."  came  in 
quivering  interruption,  "but — but  you  were  not 
correctly  informed  about  your  mother.  She>— 
she's  downstairs." 

A  violent  emotion  overtook  the  girl.  She  knew 
then  she  had  never  really  believed  what  Uriah 
told  her. 

"My  mother!"  she  breathed,  her  eyes  deepen- 
ing in  color.  "My  dear  little  mother!  Oh,  let 
me  go  to  her!" 

Thinking  of  her  own  daughter,  Mrs.  Curtis 
steeled  herself  against  a  desire  to  blurt  out  the 
danger  Tonnibel  stood  in.  The  gray  eyes  seemed 
to  be  searching  the  Innermost  recesses  of  her  soul. 
Compelling  her  gaze  to  remain  on  the  girl,  she 
told  her: 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  279 

"She's  in  the  library.  This  is  a  happy  day  for 
you,  my  dear — for — all  of  us.  You'd  better 
dress,  hadn't  you*?" 

Tonnibel  hadn't  even  heard  the  last  words. 
She  fled  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  library, 
panting  for  breath.  Her  cup  of  happiness  was 
full  to  the  brim,  now  that  Edith  had  come  back 
to  her.  She  halted,  closed  the  door  and  ran  into 
the  room. 

"Edie,  mummy  dear!"  she  called  softly,  so 
orercome  she  could  not  raise  her  voice. 

Then  Uriah  Devon  stepped  from  behind  the 
grate-screen  and  came  towards  her. 

"Daddy,"  cried  the  girl,  "where's  mummy'? 
Where's  my  mother'?" 

Uriah  dropped  the  bag  and  laid  the  revolver 
on  a  chair.  He  had  never  seen  such  a  vision  of 
loveliness.  The  masses  of  dark  curls  flung  over 
the  flimsy  dressing-gown,  the  small,  bare  ankles 
peeping  from  the  soft  blue  slippers,  sent  an  un- 
holy desire  for  possession  over  him.  What  a  fool 
he  had  been  to  promise  her  to  a  fellow  like  Reg- 
inald Brown ! 

"Tony,"  he  faltered  hoarsely.   "I've  been  a  dog 


280     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pints 

to  you  all  these  years.     I've  come  to  tell  yor,.   I 
love  you,  kici.  more'n  anybody  in  all  the  world." 

Tonnibel  dodged  his  outstretched  arms,  and 
flames  ot  an^er  leapt  into  her  eyes  at  his  words. 

"But  my  mother,"  she  exclaimed,  tr\ing  nor  to 
cry  out. 

"Never  mind  her.  Tony,  never  mind  .my  onr." 
commanded  I'riah.  "The  tact  is,  I  ^m't  your 
daddy  at  all.  I'm  not  an}-  relation  to 

Then  he  snatched   at   her  and,   a-  tried   to 

flee  from  him.  caught  her  in  his  arms.    One 
cry  left  her  lip-,  and  Kdith  Devon  heard    '  pi  (in- 
ly   out    there    under    the    TOM-    bush.      II  ov.     mar,} 
times   she  had   hY<l    to  an    appeal    like-    th 
:h<-  same    lip.-!     In    anotheT  monif  was    In 

the  room  before-  Uriah'-  ml  mouth  h 
Tony"-  face.    The  -irl  -aw  her  and  sen 

"Mummy!     Mummy    darling!     Mo:1 
est !    Take  me  away— 

The   word-   we're   strangled   in   he1:   throat,    tor 
Devon  was  forcing  her  head  backward   with 
strong  finders. 

Edith's  eyes  caupht  si^ht  of  the  revojvrr  wr '  re 
ber  husband  had  placed  it.  In  a  twinkHnf;,  .'he 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  281 

had  it  in  her  hands.  Lifting  it,  she  ran  toward 
the  struggling  pair. 

"Take  your  hand-  otiVn  Tonnibel,  Uriah/'  she 
hissed.  "\  on  dirt},  lung  dog.  You  tooled  me 
good,  you  \vhelp!  Drop  Yr.  I  say.  Uriah  Devon." 

At  the  other  end  ol  the  room,  a  tall  hoy  aro-e 
out  of  the  shadows;  Tony's  screams  had  aroused 
Reginald  Brown.  He  stood  swaying,  rubbing  his 
head,  trying  to  remember  where  he  was. 

"I'm  done  wtih  you,  Kde,"  he  heard  Devon 
utter.  "I'm  done  with  you  forever.  Tony's  mine. 
I've  just  told  Yr  I  wasn't  her  daddy.  I  was  a 
tool  to  say  Reggie  Brown  could  have  Yr.  He 
can't,  I'll  have  Yr  myself." 

"Put  Yr  down,"  gritted  Edith,  under  her 
breath. 

Almost  lifeless,  Tony  was  hanging  from 
Uriah's  arm  when  suddenly  through  the  room  a 
pistol  shot  sounded. 

The  moment  his  gun  barked,  Reginald,  now 
sober,  saw  Uriah  Devon  throw  up  his  arms  and 
crumple  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  He  saw,  too,  the 
girl  stagger  forward  and  sink  down.  He  had 
committed  murder,  perhaps,  and,  for  an  awful 


282     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

moment,  he  imagined  he  was  going  mad.  A 
scream  rose  to  his  lips  as  a  pain  shot  through  his 
head,  hut  he  bit  savagely  on  his  tongue  and  hr!d 
it  hack.  It  he  wa.>  discovered,  he  would  be  arj 
rested,  and  it  Devon  died—  He  darrd  picture 
the  future  no  further.  Shuddering,  he  slunk  back, 
crouched  at  the  head  of  the  divan  and  remained 
absolutely  quiet. 

Tony  struggled  to  her  feet,  stared  in  wild 
ama/ement  at  her  father,  then  at  her  mother,  who 
was  standing  rigidly  speechless,  the  revolver 
hanging  from  her  fingers. 

"Mummy,"  cried  the  girl,  "Oh,  God!  You've 
killed  him,  Edie  darling!1' 

Still  the  woman  didn't  say  a  word.  She  only 
gazed  at  the  speaker  unseeingly.  Tony  snatched 
the  gun  from  her  hand. 

"Edie,"  she  groaned.  "Mummy,  sweet,  go 
right  away,  before  any  one  comes.  You've  killed 
Uriah.  Go  away,  go  away,  I  say." 

She  grasped  Mrs.  Devon's  arm  and  hurried  her 
toward  the  porch  door. 

"Run,"  hissed  the  girl.  "Get  back  to  the  boat 
quick.  Don't  ever  say  a  word  to  any  one."  Then 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  283 

Tony  spied  the  little  black  bag  she'd  seen  so 
often  on  the  "Dirty  Mary."  Picking  it  up,  she 
thrust  it  into  her  mother's  hands.  "Here!  Take 
this  too.  Oh,  mummy,  kiss  me,  kiss  me!" 

She  flung  herself  ujxm  the  woman  frantically, 
kissed  the  pallid,  impassive  face  again  and  again 
and  then  shoved  Edith  out  upon  the  dark  porch. 
For  an  instant,  her  hand  held  tightly  over  her 
thumping  heart,  Tony  watched  her  mother  stag- 
ger down  the  steps.  It  was  while  Tony's  whole 
attention  was  centered  on  her  beloved,  that  Reg- 
inald Brown  seized  the  opportunity  to  sneak 
stealthily  from  the  room. 

The  nervous  woman  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
house  had  not  expected  to  hear  the  p;ercing 
scream  that  came  to  their  ears,  and,  as  it  was 
repeated  more  than  once  with  such  terrible  in- 
sistence, Mrs.  Curtis,  followed  by  Katherine,  fled 
down  the  stairs. 

Tony  heard  them  coming,  and  a  surging  love 
for  her  mother  brought  a  resolution  full-born  from 
the  loyal  young  heart.  She  was  standing  over  the 
prostrate  Uriah  when  Sarah  Curtis  and  her  daugh- 
ter rushed  madly  in. 


:>8i     The  Shadow  of  the  Slu'lteririf/  /'/MC-V 

"I   shot  m\    hither."  gaspr  i  To.mibei.    lookm- 

at  Mr.-.  Curtis,  her  ringer:   locked  i • 

handle  ot   :  he  re\  o!\  ei. 

Sarah    I  urtis     '.\  a\  ed     •  ..:••,. 
h  !i  k  v  ard  \vh.en  KatlirriiK 

"Kainr,  aiui   I'll  ht'ai 

i!    \\'haf  a  rrrriMc  rrinH-  >-on 
Toil)    Devon!'1 

L'\\  here's  vour  niotherV"  e;i!!ie  ri'oin   Mrs.  Cur- 


Tonnihel  cluln't  an-\\rer  1or  a  niinMte,  'h'T:  siu* 
shook  her  head. 

"She  hasn't  heen  here!'  -Kc  -.wai  lowed  liarJ 
and  continued:  "  ''I'was  m\  tarher,  and — and  i 
shot  him." 

{Catherine  tcx>k  a  lon_f  breath  ot  excitntienr. 

"Don't  you  know  you'll  be  arrested,  >oii 
wicked  ^irl?"  she  ejaculated. 

"And  executed!"  interposed  Mrs.  Curtis, 
"{Catherine,  call  the  police." 

As  Katherine  made  for  the  telephone,  a  motor 
car  driving  up  to  the  house,  stayed  her  action. 
Her  hand  dropped  trom  the  receiver  when  Philip 
MacCaulev  came  in.  For  a  moment,  he  didn't  see 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  286 

Devon.  With  a  quick,  flashing  glance,  he  noticed 
how  pallid  and  deathlike  his  Tony  was. 

"What  have  you  two  been  saying  to  her?"  he 
demanded  in  deadening  tones.  "I  suspected 
something  like  this,  and — and  got  away  as  soon 
as  I  could.  .  .  .  Darling  girl,  don't  look  at  me 
like  that." 

Mrs.  Curtis  was  fully  herself  now.  Her  plans 
could  not  have  been  carried  out  better  than  this. 
In  all  her  wild  longings,  she  had  not  foreseen  so 
complete  a  removal  of  Tonnibel  Devon  from  the 
house,  and  in  disgrace  too. 

"The  wicked  girl  ha.-  shot  her  own  tather,"  she 
told  Captain  MacCauley,  making  an  effort  to 
keep  the  satisfaction  out  of  her  voice.  "There  he 
is.  dead  on  the  floor !" 

Then  Philip  saw  Devon.  In  horrified  amaze- 
ment and  disbelief,  his  ga/.e  came  back  to  Ton- 
nibel. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  and  he  went  swiftly  to  her. 
"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  It's  all  a  lie!" 

Tony  flung  out  her  hand. 

"Don't  touch  me,  please  don't!"  she  mumbled. 
"I  told  her  I  did  it,  and  I— I— I— did." 


28C     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pine*. 

She  backed  away  from  his  outstretched  arms. 

"But  you  couldn't  have,"  groaned  the  boy. 
"What  happened?  Oh,  God!  Won't  some  one 
tell  me  what  happened?" 

"Mother  has  told  you  quite  plainly,  Philip," 
gulped  Katherine,  noticing  with  a  thrill  that  Cap- 
tain MacCauley  had  not  covered  the  few  steps 
Tony  had  retreated.  "She  said  she  killed  her 
father,  and  no  girl  admits  such  a  thing  as  that 
unless  it's  true.  Heavens,  there's  Cousin  John 
and- 

"Cousin  Paul,"  fell  from  Mrs.  Curtis,  who 
looked  as  if  she  had  turned  to  stone. 

Not  another  word  was  uttered  by  that  silent 
group  of  people  until  after  the  two  doctors  en- 
tered the  library. 

For  a  moment  everything  was  confusion.  Dr. 
John  forced  Mrs.  Curtis  into  a  chair  when  she 
tried  to  fling  herself  into  his  arms.  With  every 
one,  but  Tony,  talking  at  once,  neither  he  nor 
his  brother  could  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
seemingly  dead  man  on  the  floor. 

"Will  you  all  keep  still,  all  of  you?"  shouted 


"Poor  lAttlc  Mother"  287 

Dr.  John,  in  his  bombastic  voice.  "First,  Paul, 
let's  see  about  this  fellow  here." 

"Tony  shot  him  it  you  want  to  know,"  Mrs. 
Curtis  dared  to  fling  out. 

Dr.  Paul  gave  her  such  an  awful  look  that 
she  quailed  beneath  it. 

"He's  not  dead,"  he  said  after  a  hasty  exam- 
ination of  Uriah,  and  one  dry,  tearless  sob  burst 
from  Tony  Devon. 

"You  might  as  well  own  up  the  whole  thing 
now,  miss,"  cried  Mrs.  Curtis,  after  the  wounded 
man  had  been  carried  out  by  the  doctors  and 
Philip.  "It'll  be  better  for  you  in  the  end." 

Tony  didn't  reply,  nor  did  she  look  at  the 
speaker.  She  paid  no  attention  to  the  whispering 
of  the  mother  and  daughter  during  the  intermin- 
able time  they  waited  for  the  return  of  the  three 
men.  Her  mind  was  following  her  mother  along 
the  Boulevard,  yes,  even  down  the  lonely  forest- 
path  to  the  "Dirty  Mary."  Through  her  tangled 
thoughts  went  the  question,  if  Uriah  wasn't  her 
father,  who  was?  How  she  dreaded  to  face  Dr. 
Paul  with  his  infinite  kindness,  and  the  appeal 
she  knew  he  would  make.  Never  before  had  he 


-88     The  Shadou  uj  ihc  Skeltering  Pinc-< 

-ermed  so  clear;  never  had  Philip  MacCauley 
been  so  far  away  a-  at  th:>  minute!  At  length, 
-he  lilted  her  head  and  re-ted  her  troubled  eyes 
on  Mrs.  Curt!-. 

"Please  don't  tell  m\    hither,  I  mean  Dr.  Paul, 
about    your    saying    ni\     mother    was    here," 
moaned. 

Mrs.  Cum-  considered  the  request  quickly. 

"Perhaps  that    would   be  best,''   ,-h"   answered. 
"I  really  thought  she  was,  or  I  wouldn't  have  * 
\ on  so.    It  might  bring  troubl<    to  her,  and  that 
would  be  dreadful   tor  an  innoeenr  person." 

Dr.  Paul  went  direetly  to  Tony,  wlien,  tol- 
lov,red  by  his  brother  and  Philip,  lu-  came  b:iek 
into  the  room.  lie  tried  to  draw  her  to  IV.T  feet. 

''I'd  rather  stay  here,  please,"  .-he  said,  wirhou: 
kx)kin^  up. 

"\Mio  was  in  the  room  when  the  man  was 
shot?"  asked  Dr.  John,  staring  at  Mrs.  Curtis 
and  her  daughter. 

"Just  Tonnibel,  as  far  as  I  can  find  out,"  Sara!: 
answered.  ''Heaven  knows  that  Kathie  and  I 
don't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  such  a  thing  as  this. 
It's  perfectly  disgraceful." 


"Poor  Little  Moilicr" 

''Then  go  upstairs,"  shot  back  Dr.  .John. 

Loath  not  to  witness  the  vanquishing  ot  their 
enemy,  the  two  women  trailed  out  reluctantly. 

In  spite  ot  Tony's  resistance,  Dr.  Paul  placed 
liis  arm  about  her. 

''Can't  you  tell  your  father  about  it,  dear'?"  he 
pleaded.  "How  did  you  happen  to  have  the  pin 
in  your  hands,  and  what  did  he  do?" 

"I  just  shot  him."1  sighed  Tony.  dull}-.  She 
was  too  exhausted  to  say  anything  more.  What 
was  there  to  explain  after  all?  The  only  sure 
way  to  save  Edith  was  to  insist  she,  herself,  had 
tired  the  shot. 

A  strange,  strangling  sound  came  from  Captain 
MacCauley.  Then  he  blurted  out: 

"Tony  darling,  please  don't  sit  there  that  way. 
Tell  us  about  it.  Do,  dear.  Oh,  don't  you  know 
how  much  we  all  love  you?" 

Did  she  know?  Ah,  yes  and  more!  Her  own 
devotion  to  him  was  almost  forcing  the  truth 
from  between  her  chattering  teeth.  She  glanced 
at  him,  and  then,  Edith,  pale,  beseeching  and 
wan,  came  between  her  face  and  his. 

"There  isn't  anything  more  to  tell,  Philip,"  she 


290     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pine* 

choked  hopelessly.  "I  suppose  I'll  be  arrested.  If 
he  dies— — 

She  burst  into  broken  sobs  and  crouched  lower. 

"He's  not  going  to  die,"  Paul  told  her  softly. 
"He  only  has  a  slight  scalp  wound.  So  put  that 
worry  out  ol  your  head.  .  .  .  Tony,  don't  you 
love  me  any  more?" 

Love  him !  The  agony  in  his  voice  made  her 
fling  her  amis  around  him,  and  she  clung  to  him 
shivering,  entreating  him  to  forgive  her,  not  to 
cease  loving  her,  for  she'd  die  if  he  did. 

"Child  dear,"  he  murmured,  running  his  fingers 
over  her  curls,  "you're  going  to  steady  yourself 
now  and  tell  your  father  just  what  happened! 
Now,  begin  !" 

He  had  not  finished  when  his  eyes  caught  sight 
of  the  safe.  He  stared  at  its  open  door,  and  Dr. 
John's  gay.e  followed  his.  Then  the  latter  strode 
across  the  room,  and  for  a  long  moment  peered 
into  the  opening. 

"It's  empty!  Everything's  gone,"  he  muttered, 
turning  slowly,  and  Philip  exclaimed: 

"That's  why  she  shot  him,  Jack.  He  was  steal- 
ing! Tony  darling,"  and  the  speaker  went  down 


"Poor  Litlie  Mother"  291 

beside  the  girl,  "Tony,  did  you  find  your  lather 
here?" 

"I  didn't  see  him  take  anything,  Philip,"  she 
sobbed  bitterly.  Her  eyes  were  looking  at  him,  but 
their  expression  told  him  they  didn't  see  him  at 
all.  Another  problem  was  tormenting  her.  Her 
misery  was  being  added  to  by  the  minute.  So 
impatient  was  Philip  to  have  the  matter  cleared 
that  he  spoke  harshly  to  her. 

"Tony,  you  know  where  those  jewels  are,"  said 
he.  "Tell  us  instantly!"  Then  he  ejaculated: 
"That  man  has  them  upstairs." 

He  was  out  of  the  room  in  a  flash,  and  an 
awful  silence  settled  over  the  three  until  he  was 
with  them  again. 

"He  hasn't  got  them,"  he  faltered.  "I  searched 
every  pocket  in  his  clothes.  But  I  found  this  wad 
of  money.  There  must  be  thousands  in  it!" 

He  passed  the  money  to  Dr.  John. 

"It  wasn't  in  the  safe,"  said  the  latter,  thought- 
fully, slipping  it  into  the  table  drawer. 

His  words  struck  a  new  terror  to  Tonnibel. 
Edith  had  robbed  the  safe  then,  Edith  who  never 
stole  unless  she  was  forced  to  it.  The  shudders 


The  Shadoic  oj  the  Sheltering  Pine* 

that  ran  over  her  brought  a  teclm^  ot  rebellion 
TO  Paul  Pendlehaven.  Philip  groaned  and  bepm 
ro  speak,  bur  the  doctor  waved  him  to  silence. 

"Ton}."  h»-  -aid  -ternly.  "there'.-  something 
beneath  all  this,  something  you  must  tell  me.  I)») 
you  know  where  the  thinp-  went  that  were  in  the 
safe"?" 

To  den\  it  would  be  the  same  as  telling  that  a 
third  person  had  been  there.  To  admit  it  would 
forever  place  her  beyond  the  pale  ot  his  love.  Yet 
there  was  Kdith — and  Uriah,  whom  she  had 
sworn  to  protect. 

"Yts,  I  know,"  die  whispered.  "Of  cour-e,  I 
know/'  she  repeated  louder. 

"You'll  tell  me,"  be^ed  Philip,  hoarsely. 
"Great  Heavens,  child,  can't  you  see  how  awtui 
it  looks  tor  youV" 

"Yes,"  was  all  she  said,  miserably. 

Dr.  John  was  wandering  aimle-sly  about  th<- 
room.  The  mystery  that  had  tiling  o\er  To:r>, 
Devon  ever  since  she  had  been  with  them  was 
deeper  than  ever.  He  felt  like  shaking  Lhe  .  -nth 
from  her,  tor  the  si^ht  ot  his  horror-stricken 
brother  filled  him  with  rane  which  did  +or  the 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  293 

moment  obliterate  the  past  two  years  in  which 
the  girl  had  been  the  one  bright  spirit  in  their 
home. 

"Then  it  you  know.  Tony,"  he  ejaculated,  "jmt 
out  with  it.  Your  father  evidently  didn't  takf 
them 

"I  did,"  interrupted  Tony,  giving  him  one 
swift,  awful  glance. 

"What  for?"  was  hi.^  bitter  retort.  "My 
brother  gave  you  permission  to  wear  them  when- 
ever you  wanted  to!" 

Tony  couldn't  answer.  She  was  becoming  hope- 
lessly entangled,  more  so  with  ever}-  word  she 
uttered. 

"God,  I'd  rather  have  given  them  all  to  you," 
mourned  Dr.  Paul.  "I  intended  to,  anyhow." 

How  could  she  bear  that  tone  of  sorrow  in  hi.- 
voice?  How  could  she  stand  losing  him,  Philip 
and  Cousin  John  and  all  the  happiness  they  had 
brought  her? 

"If  your  father  dies,  Tonnibel,"  said  Dr.  John, 
sternly,  "you'll  be  arrested.  Oh,  Lord!  What 
a  mess!" 

;'It's  awful,"  muttered  Tony. 


294     TJic  Sliiulow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

Simultaneous  with  her  assertion,  Reginald 
Brown  opened  the  door  and  minced  over  the 
threshold.  Perfectly  eertain  now  that  l.'riah  had 
hut  a  temporary  wound,  and  that  tor  the  love 
they  bore  Tonnibe]  I)e\on,  his  cousins  would 
hush  the  matter  up,  he  had  determined  to  make 
his  plea  openly  to  the  girl.  Philip,  ot  course, 
wouldn't  ever  look  at  her  a  pi  in  atter  Mich  a  dis- 
grace had  fallen  upon  her. 

"Tony,"  he  said,  coming  forward  with  a  mag- 
nanimous swagger,  "Tin  the  only  one  in  this 
house  who  loves  you — 

"You  lie,"  flashed  Philip,  as  Dr.  John  took 
a  step  toward  his  young  cousin,  but  the  girl's  ex- 
pression brought  him  to  a  halt.  She  was  looking 
at  Reginald  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  him  to  burn 
holes  through  him. 

'Tve  never   told   any  one  here    you  cared    for 
me,  Reggie,"  she  taltered,  drawing  herself  forci- 
bly from  Dr.  Paul,  "and — and  I  took  the  things 
out    of     the     safe     to    help     us    along     when— 
when " 

Reggie  stared  at  her.  amazement  spreading  over 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  295 

his  countenance;  he  felt  a  swelling  in  his  chest,  an 
overwhelming  awe  and  respect  for  her. 

"I  didn't  tell  you  to  steal,"  he  blurted.    , 

"I  know  you  didn't,"  responded  Tonnibel, 
amid  the  terrible  silence  that  had  fallen  on  her 
friends,  "but  we  couldn't  get  along  without  mon- 
ey, so  I  took  the — the — Cousin  Paul's " 

During  the  broken  statement  Philip  MacCau- 
ley  had  dropped  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  Dr.  John  was  gaping  at  her 

as  if  she  had  struck  him,  but  Dr.  Paul 

Well,  he  simply  reached  out  and  grasped  her 
hands. 

"You're  lying  again,  Tony,"  he  interrupted 
her  grimly.  "I  don't  know  why,  but  I'm  posi- 
tive all  you've  said  is  a  fearful  lie.  Reginald, 
have  you  ever  asked  Tony  to  marry  you*?" 

The  boy  smiled  broadly.  Everything  was 
working  out  splendidly  for  him. 

"Yes,  and  her  father  promised  her  to  me,"  he 
boasted,  "but  I  didn't  know  until  to-night  she 
really  loved  me." 

Tony  shot  him  a  look  of  hate,  but  she  low- 


296     The  Shaduic  of  the  Sheltering  Pint* 

creel  her  eyes  instantly.  She  dared  not  risk  Paul 
Pendlehaven  seeing  her  revulsion. 

But  it  was  to  Reginald's  credit,  that  he  be- 
lieved she  s[K)ke  the  truth.  His  vanity  wouldn't 
allow  him  to  think  otherwise. 

"I'd  like  to  talk  to  her  alone,"  he  said  crisply, 
directly  at  Cousin  Paul.  "Women  are  [x-culiar 
creatures.  Why,  I've  loved  her  over  two  years, 
and  to  think  she  made-  Philip  believe  she  was  go- 
ing to  marry  him— 

"So  she  is,"  snapped   Philip,   raising  his  head. 

"When  I've  done  my  damnedest  to  get  her  to 
ki-s  me  even,"  continued  Reginald,  overlooking 
MacCauley's  ejaculation.  "You  remember  your- 
self,  Phil,  what  happened  that  day  on  the  boar." 

"Don't  repeat  it."  cried  Tony.  ''Oh.  all  ot  you 
go  away,  go  away.  Let  me  alone.  I  want  to  be 
by  myself." 

"You  want  to  be  with  me."  contradicted  Regi- 
nald, and  he  whirled  in  jubilant  ecstasy  on  one 
heel,  rhm  c  icked  his  feet  together.  "You  love 
me,  Tony!  You  do.  don't  you"?" 

The  dark  head  made  an  almost  imperceptible 
nod,  but  Philip  in  his  jealousy  saw  it. 


"Poor  Little  Mother"  297 

I  It-  p)t  up  as  ii  he  were  an  old  man.  The  youth 
had  £one  out  ot  him. 

"It  she  doesn't,  love  me  and  never  ha>,"  he 
muttered  da'/edly,  "then  I'd  better  p)." 

He  waited  for  her  to  sneak  to  him,  to  deny  her 
words,  but  the  tearful  expression  in  the  gray  eyes 
turned  upon  him,  contused  him  still  more. 

"Yes,  •>j;(},"  Tony  told  him.  rousing  herself,  "and 
—and — never  think  ot  me  a^ain." 

There-  was  silence  in  the  room  as  he  went  away, 
but  no  sooner  had  the  door  closed  than  Tony 
filing  up  her  arms  and  sank  unconscious  in  a  for- 
lorn, little  heap  against  Paul  Pendlehaven. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

CROSS-gUKSTIONS 

EDITH  DEVON,  with  the  small  black  bag  in 
her  hand,  crept  out  of  the  Pendlehaven  garden, 
unapprehensive.  She  had  no  power  to  think — 
no  desire  to  go  anywhere  or  do  anything.  She 
even  forgot  the  words  Uriah  had  spoken  to  Ton- 
nibel;  she  didn't  even  remember  the  girl  had  told 
her  to  go  back  to  the  "Dirty  Mary."  She  lin- 
gered about  Pendlehaven  Place  until  the  morn- 
ing dawned.  During  the  hours  preceding  day- 
light, she  studied  over  the  events  of  the  afternoon 
and  evening.  As  her  mind  cleared,  all  her  love 
for  Uriah  rose  up  and  clamored  to  help  him.  She 
remembered  leaving  him  stretched  out  on  the  floor 
as  if  he  were  dead.  When  the  town  below  began 
to  show  signs  of  day,  she  walked  back  into  Pen- 
dlehaven Place,  and  slowly  up  to  the  house. 

It  was  a  servant  who  ushered  Mrs.  Devon  into 
the  library  where  Dr.  John  and  Dr.  Paul  still 

998 


Cross-Questions  299 

sat,  struggling  with  the  mystery  that  had  come 
into  their  usually  quiet  home.  After  vainly 
trying  to  force  more  than  monosyllabic  replies 
from  Tonnihel,  they  had  put  her  to  bed,  gibbering 
with  fright. 

Edith   advanced    to   the   middle   of   the    room, 

holding  the  little  bag  in  her  hand,  looking  first 
at  Dr.  John,  who  tried  unsuccessfully  to  re- 
call where  he  had  seen  her,  and  then  at  Dr. 
Paul. 

"Where's  my  man,  my  Uriah4?"  she  asked 
hoarsely,  and  then  Dr.  John  recognized  her 
and  rose  to  his  leet.  "You  got  my  husband  here 
with  a  bit  of  lead  in  'im/'  went  on  Edith,  mo- 
notonously. "I  want  to  see  'im;  I  want  to  take 
'im  back  to  the  boat." 

For  the  space  of  thirty  seconds,  perhaps,  no  one 
ventured  a  word.  Then,  as  the  woman  swayed, 
Dr.  John  leaped  forward  and  put  her  into  a 
chair.  The  bag  dropped  to  the  floor  beside  her. 
Tears  began  to  flow  down  her  cheeks,  and,  with 
her  sleeve,  she  brushed  them  away. 

"Where's  my  man,  my  Uriah*?"  she  demanded 


i  \ .      "d ,  •  .••  ';:, .  ba.  i  t(T,  .n,i 

I'll—  —     \Vi':  ;•••'     -  rhat  -hot  'im?'1 

"\Yh<>  shot  himV  med   Dr.  John, 

Edirh  pn  e  him  .1  pe  'ill iar  look. 

"Re;_.Je.  Ke^gir  Brown."     !;<'  \\'!nnc(.i.      "I  -,r.<. 
'im,  anJ    I'oi- \ .  ihmkin'   1  tiiJ  il  - 

A  -harn  cry  tell  from  Dr.  Paul  Pcndlehaven. 

"Toil}'  \-o\vcd  she  dul  it,"  luj  gasped.     "O1 
poor  little  ^irl!      She  didn't  even  mention   your 
bcin^r  here." 

''Tony's     like     that,"     assented     Edith.       "Sh 
wouldn't   [x-ach  on  a  do^;." 

Dr.    John    camr    to    her    side    with    one    Ion: 
stride. 

"Are  you  ready  to  swear  Reginald  Brown  shot 
your  husband*?"  he  demanded. 

"Of  course  I  am,  mister,"  nodded  Edith.    "IL 
was  always   runnin'   after  Tony,   and  she   hate  J 
'im.      He   was    right    over    there    when,    sudden- 
like,  he  banged  a  bullet  smack  at  my  man.     Th  '.' 
duffer,   the  dirty  pup,   ain't  fit   to  clean   Uriah 
boots.     When  Tony  pushed  me  out  of  this  hou 
she  says,   well,   she  says,   'Run,   mummy,   beioiv 


Cross-Questions  301 

somebody  gets  you,'  and  I  was  kind  a  dazed-like 
and  ran  away." 

Just  then  Philip  flung  into  the  room. 

"I'm  halt  crazy."  he  exclaimed  and  then 
stopped,  seeing  Edith  Devon,  but  lie  was  so  filled 
with  misery  that  he  gave  no  further  heed  to  the 
>tranger  and  went  on  hastily,  "Jack,  Paul,  there's 
something  behind  that  affair  of  Reggie's!" 

"There  sure  is,"  said  John  Pendlehaven.  "Sit 
down,  boy.  We're  just  getting  at  it.  This  is 
Mrs,  Devon." 

"And  my  man,"  she  insisted,  struggling  up. 
"Uriah  always  was  a  damn  tool,  mixin'  up  with 
swells  like  Reggie  Brown,  but  I  love  'im;  and. 
mister,"  she  wiped  her  face  and,  shudderingly, 
appealed  to  Paul  Pendlehaven,  "it  you  give  'im  to 
me,  mister 

''We'll  see  Tony  first,"  he  interrupted.  "Wait." 

While  their  cousins  were  with  Uriah's  wife  be- 
low, Mrs.  Curtis  and  Katherine  were  talking  over 
the  events  of  the  night. 

"If  Tony'll  only  stick  to  what  she's  said," 
Mrs.  Curtis  was  repeating,  "nothing  could  be  bet- 


302     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

ter.      She'll   probably   go   to  jail,   and   Reginald 
will  forget  her/' 

"Rege's  such  a  tool,"  commented  the  girl.  "I 
wonder  if  she  really  did  say  she  loved  him.  She 
simply  couldn't  care  tor  him  when  she  has  Philip, 
nor  alter  her  knowing  he  tried  to  kill  Cousin  Paul. 
I'd  like  to  know  what's  behind  it  all." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

PAYMENT    IN     FULL 

TONY  received  the  call  to  the  library  listlessly. 
Nothing  that  any  one  could  say  now  would  make 
her  lot  an}' easier.  Nothing!  Nothing!  Philip, 
her  new  father,  kind  Uncle  John,  all  had  vanished 
in  the  waters  ot  bitterness  that  had  overwhelmed 
her. 

The  room  seemed  full  of  people  when  she  crept 
timidly  in.  Uriah  Devon,  with  a  white  cloth  tied 
around  his  head,  lounged  in  a  large  chair.  Mrs. 
Curtis  and  Katherine  were  seated,  rigidly  erect 
side  by  side.  The  girl's  gaze  passed  over  their 
glaring  eyes  and  settled  on  Philip  MacCauley. 
Was  that  a  smile  she  saw  lurking  around  his  lips'? 
Of  course  not!  He  couldn't  smile  when  she  was 
in  such  trouble!  She  shivered  as  she  met  Regi- 
nald Brown's  eager  eyes,  and,  thrusting  back  a 
sob,  she  went  to  Paul  Pendlehaven  because  he  had 
held  his  hand  out  to  her.  Then  she  saw  her 

303 


.'iOJ      Ti'C  Slutthnc  of  tin    Sheltering  Pinr* 

mother,  and  a  bevuldered  expre.->ion  spread  over 
her  face.      Dr.   Paul,  hi-  eyes  soft  and  jjlean: 
his   lip-   twitching  nervou.-ly,  drew  her  down  be- 

-!(':(•    hllil. 

"Munini)     doesn't    know    anything   about    it," 

gasped    the    girl,    rxtrndinj    her    arms    to    Kdith. 

'I     won't     '!!<Mr    any    our    say — Oh,    I  riah,"    she 

Turned  to  Devon,  "you  kno\s .     Oh.  say  I  did  it." 

"Won':   say  any  such  thing,"  nmrrered  Uriah. 

"Ot  course  he  won't,  Ton\,"  exclaimed  Dr. 
John.  "\\'e  know  the  truth  now." 

Tonnibe]  ,uor  to  her  feet,  [Hilling  herself  a\va\' 
1  rom  Paul  I'endlehaven. 

"Oh,  }'OM  can't  arrest  :ny  poi>r  little  mother," 
-he  cried.  "Her  whole  hie  has  been  so  miserable, 
I  must  help  her.  You  must,  you,  Philip— 

Philip  uot  out  of  his  chair,  but  Dr.  John  put 
him  back  into  it  apiin. 

"Wait."    he   whispered   into   the  boy's   ear. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  every  one."  went  on  Tony, 
fiercely,  "that  I'll  swear  'til  I  the  my  mother- 
Paul  Pendlehaven  took  the  speaker  by  the 
shoulders  and  forced  IKT  face  up  to  his. 

"This    woman,    here,    your    mother,"    and    h'- 


Payment  in  Full  305 

waved  his  arm  toward  Mrs.  Devon,  "says  you 
didn't  have  that  gun  in  your  hand,  and  it's  load- 
ed to  the  brim  now.  She  didn't  use  it  cither/' 

Regie's  jaw  dropped.  He  made  a  da-h  for  the 
door,  as  Mrs.  Curtis  .^creamed.  Dr.  John  caught 
the  fleeing  hoy  and  wheeled  him  around  to  face 
hi>  horror-stricken  mother. 

"It's  a  lie!  I  didn't/'  he  mumbled.  "Where'd 
I  get  a  pin  to  shoot  any  one?  This  woman  did  it 
herself.  I  saw  her/' 

"Then  you  ccv/v  here,"  cried  Philip. 

Mrs.  Curtis  acted  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint, 
but,  as  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  her,  she 
slumped  back  beside  her  daughter,  who  turned 
away  contemptuously. 

"That  settles  one  question,"  commented  Dr. 
Paul,  grimly.  "You  shot  Devon,  Reggie,"  and 
the  boy  sank  into  a  chair  beside  his  mother. 
"Now,"  continued  the  doctor,  "who  robbed  tin- 
safe  ?" 

To  know  that  her  mother  hadn't,  done  the  shoot- 
ing relieved  but  one  of  Tonnibel's  worries.  Uriah 
wasn't  hurt  much  anyway,  but  the  doctor's  ques- 
tion brought  vividly  to  her  mind  another  danger. 


30G     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

not  a  whir  less  serious.  Edith  was  certainly  in- 
volved in  looting  the  safe! 

"I  told  you  once,"  Ton}'  began  weakly. 

"Child,"  interposed  Dr.  Paul,  "you'll  shield 
no  one  else.  I  shudder  to  think  what  might  have 
happened  if  your  mother  hadn't  come  here  for  her 
husband." 

His  tones  were  low  and  stern,  though  much 
moved. 

His  eye  caught  sight  of  the  black  bag  at  the 
same  time  his  brother's  did.  Dr.  John  opened  it 
and,  amid  an  appalling  silence,  took  box  alter 
box  out  of  it. 

"Plain  stealing!"  he  growled,  and  then  he 
stared  at  Mrs.  Devon  in  open-mouthed  amaze- 
ment. "What'd  you  bring  'em  back  torV"  he 
questioned. 

Edith  paid  no  attention  to  Dr.  John's  query 
but  addressed  her  husband. 

"Uriah,  now  you  went  and  done  it  again!''  She 
turned  to  Dr.  Paul.  "You  got  everythin'  back, 
give  me  my  man.  He  didn't  know  what  he  was 
doin,'  sir." 

"Then  he'll  be   taught   a  lesson,   the  same   as 


Payment  in  Full  307 

Reginald  will,  madam,"  rejoined  the  doctor. 
"Ever  since  your  daughter  came  to  us,  she's  been 
in  dread  of  your  husband,  her  father.  Once  he 
was  sent  away,  and  she  had  peace.  This  time  he 
won't  come  back  in  a  hurry." 

Dr.  John  reached  into  the  drawer  of  the  ta- 
ble near  him  and  produced  the  roll  of  bills  that 
Philip  had  found  on  Devon  the  night  before. 

"How  about  this,  youf '  he  inquired  of  Devon. 
"Where'd  this  come  from  before  it  was  in  your 
pocket'?  While  we're  at  it,  we  might  as  well 
clear  up  everything." 

Dr.  Paul  and  Philip  fixed  their  gaze  upon  the 
wounded  man  and  waited  expectantly  for  his 
answer.  They  had  spent  considerable  time  over 
the  five  thousand  dollars  and  wondered  what  con- 
nection, if  any,  it  had  with  the  events  of  the  night. 
To  Tonnibel  and  Edith,  the  appearance  of  such 
a  sum  from  such  a  place  seemed  absolutely  incred- 
ible. The  Curtises  knew  what  money  it  was,  but 
their  anxiety  was  no  less  acute  on  that  account. 
Katherine  leaned  forward  feverishly,  and  her 
mother  leapt  to  her  feet. 

The  center  of  interest,  Uriah  Devon,  shifted 


.308     The  Shadow  of  the  Siccitcriuj  Pines 

line;!:-':!}'  in  hi.>  chair.     lie  had  discovered  rhe  lo-,- 

the   mom  y   but   hud    nor    dared    to   make   any 

Inquiry  about  it.      Ha-ni\   he  run  over  the  situu- 

n,  and  it.  appeared  to  him  a-  ho;>eie.-.-  as  [)C 
hie,  but  five  thousand  dollar-  \va-  a  good  ihmg 
'  >r  a  man  to  have  whatever  his  position.  I;  Mr.~. 
Curtis  claimed  the  mone\.  her  connecrion  \virli 
him  would  come  out.  and  that  mi^'ht  make  tiling"- 
easier  tor  him.  It  she  duin't,  he'd  have  the  cu.-h 
anyhow. 

"That's  mine,  mister."  he  grunted,  "and  I 
didn't  steal  it  neither,  dive  it  to  me." 

The  same  considerations  had  been  chasing 
through  Mrs.  Curtis'  mind,  and,  in  the  general 
cataclysm  that  she  >aw  bet  ore  her,  she  concluded 
the  money  might  be  very  necessary  tor  her  and 
her  children. 

''Don't  let  him  have  it,  John,"  she  screamed. 
•"It's  mine.  Gi\  e  it  to  me." 

Dr.  John  arose  and  stood  between  Uriah  and 
Mrs.  Curtis,  holding  the  roll  oi  bills  in  his 
hand.  Amidst  the  elosest  attention  of  the  rest  ot 
the  group,  he  looked  irorn  one  to  the  other,  while 
the  claimants  indulged,  in  a  dispute. 


Payment  in  Full  309 

"You  give  it  to  me,  didn't  you,  ma'am*?"  asked 
Uriah,  roughly.  "Didn't  you'?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  did,"  she  acknowledged,  "but 
you  haven't  done  what  you  said  you  would." 

"  'Twasn't  my  fault,"  Uriah  Crumbled.  "If 
that  fool  ot  a  son  of  yours  hadn't  butted  in  and 
shot  me,  I'd  taken  Tony  like  I  bargained  to." 

Then  Dr.  Paul  interposed,  and  a  few  ques- 
tions, sternly  put  and  categorically  answered,  di>- 
covered  the  whole  conspiracy  between  Mrs.  Cur- 
tis, her  children,  and  Uriah  Devon. 

John  Pendlehaven,  whose  anger  had  been  stead- 
ily rising,  suddenly  stepped  forward  and  brushed 
his  brother  aside. 

"I'll  take  charge  of  this  now,  Paul,"  he  stated. 
"You're  too  damned  easy.  Here's  where  you 
treacherous  snakes  go  to  jail,"  he  included  Uriah 
and  the  Curtises  in  a  sweep  of  his  hand.  "Every 
one  of  you  !"  He  turned  savagely  upon  Reginald. 
"You  little  pup,"  he  charged  swiftly,  "you  tried 
to  poison  Paul,  didn't  you*?"  He  crossed  to  his 
side  and  towered  over  him  with  upraised  fist. 
"Own  up,  damn  you.  Didn't  you?" 

Reginald  cowered,  slipped  out  of  his  chair  and 


310     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Phics 

attempted  to  shield  himself  in  Mrs.  Curtis'  arms, 
who  leaned  protectingly  over  him. 

''I — I  wa>  drunk,''  he  excused  himself,  "and  I 
thought,"  he  whimpered  to  his  mother,  ''I  thought 
you  wanted  me  to." 

Then  Kdith  projected  her-clt  into  the  excitc- 
ment  again.  She  glanced  at  I'riah.  her  eyes  melt- 
ing with  tenderness,  aro.-e  and  stood  looking  at  the 
Pendlehavcn  brothers. 

"Mr.  Paul,1'  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "don't  you 
remember  meV 

Paul  looked  her  over  with  no  sign  ot  recogni- 
tion, and  his  brother  turned  away  irom  Reginald 
to  observe  this  new  development. 

"Xo,"  said  Paul,  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"Never  rn'md  !  That  don't  matter!"  was  the 
reply,  "but  I'll  make  a  dicker  with  you.  You  give 
me  my  man  for  keeps,  and  I'll  give  you  your  girU 
Caroline.  I'm  Edith  Mindil !" 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop,  so  deep  was 
the  silence.  All  were  looking  at  the  haggard 
woman,  facing  Paul  Pendlehaven,  who  was  rising 
unsteadily. 


Payment  in  Full  311 

"Give  me  my  man,"  she  repeated.  "Don't 
send  'im  to  jail,  and  I'll  give  you  your  girl." 

Ur.  Paul  had  become  so  white  that  his  broth- 
er went  to  him  and  flung  an  arm  across  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"Are  you  lying?"  he  thundered  at  Edith.  "If 
— if Sit  down,  Paul.  Let  me— 

"Where's  my  baby?"  quavered  Paul  Pendle- 
haven. 

"Does  my  Uriah  go  fre  ,  scot-free?"  ques- 
tioned Mrs.  Devon. 

"Yes,  yes,"  consented  both  brothers  at  the  same 
time. 

Tony  had  dropped  to  the  floor.  Now  that  lit- 
tle Caroline  had  been  found,  she  could  r:j  longer 
be  a  Pendlchavcn  daughter.  Edith  went  to  her 
and  knelt  beside  her. 

"Here  she  is,  sir,"  she  said  in  husky  tones, 
lifting  a  tearful  face  to  the  men,  "and  you 
couldn't  have  a  finer  girl  in  the  world.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  say  for  you  to  forgive  me,  sir,  but  you've 
had  'er  over  two  years !  Now,  gimme  Uriah,  and 
we'll  go." 

Tonv   threw   her  arms   around    Edith's   neck. 


«*J12     The  Shadow  of  the  Sheltering  Pines 

What  a  change  two  minute?  and  a  few  words  had 
made!  She  seemed  to  have  taken  on  a  new  dig- 
nity as,  with  shining  eyes,  she  said  to  Paul  Pen- 
dlehaven : 

"Father,  darling,  whatever  it  was  (hat  separated 
u-,  I  want,  oh,  how  I  want  to  do  something  tor 
the  only  mother  I'\e  ever  known." 

Of  course.  Dr.  Paul  consented:  he  even  did 
more.  He  got  a  promise  trom  the  confused  Uriah 
that  he'd  turn  hi>  back  on  the  old  days  and  old 
ways,  and  begin  again  with  such  aid  as  the  Pen- 
dlehavens  would  give  him. 

While  Dr.  Paul  was  settling  the  tate  of  the 
Devons,  John  Pendlehaven  had  been  si/in:.:  up  the 
Curtis  family.  They  were  grouped  together. 
clinging  to  each  other. 

"Keggie,"  he  ejaculated.  "I  reckon  you  did  a 
good  job  when  you  Mopped  Devon  with  a  bullet 
last,  night.  As  tor  you,  Sarah,  you  and  your  el  il- 
dren  aren't  safe  to  ha\e  in  the  hor.se.  II' 
He  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  offered  the  live 
thousand  dollars  to  her.  ''Here's  your  money. 
Now  go,  and  rake  Keggie  and  Katherine  with 
you." 


Paiiment  in  Full  313 

Mrs.  Curtis  \v;i:;  ?o  utterly  overcome  that  she 
could  do  nothing  but  sob,  but  Kather'me  took  :'i-- 
bills  from  the  doctor's  hand  and  turned  to  h<-r 
brother. 

"Come  on,  Rege,"  she  muttered.  "Help  me 
get  her  out.  ot  this.  \Ye  better  go."  She  pinched 
her  mother's  arm  spitefully.  "Get  up,  mother. 
Quit,  that  crying,  and  come  on." 

The  others  watched  them  leave  the  room,  and 
then  Mrs.  Devon  spoke  up : 

''We're  next,  Riah!  And  we're  everlastingly 
grateful  to  you,  Dr.  Paul,  and  you,  Dr.  John, 
tor  lettin'  us  go.  Ain't  we,  RiahV 

Devon  straightened  up  from  his  chair  and 
grinned  sheepishly. 

"That  we  be,"  he  agreed,  "and  I'll  try  to  show 
it." 

That  evening  when  Tonnibel  and  Philip  were 
alone  together,  the  young  man  said  chokingly, 
"You  don't  for  a  moment  imagine  I  ever  believed 
you  did  that  thing,  darling?  I  went  away  be- 
cause I  thought  you  didn't  love  me  any  more,  that 


314     The  Shadow  <>>   the  Sheltering  Pines 

von  never  had  loved  me.     You  don't  think — any 
other  way"?1' 

"No,    dear,"    she    answered    gently.      "No,    of 


course  not !' 


The  boy  pressed  her  to  him,  and,  as  they  whis- 
pered so  low,  no  one  could  hear  anything,  there 
isn't  another  word  to  reeord,  except  that  Tonnibel 
Pendlehavcn  had  everything  the  world  could  give 


one  little  girl. 


THE    END 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 
Return  this  material  to  the  library 
from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


'  •  1997 


li 


